1 Late that night, a chilling video popped up in the community chat, freezing the blood in my veins. It showed a wild monkey, its face eerily human-like, tearing into a stray cat right below our building. The cat’s screams, raw and piercing, scraped down my spine. The cat lovers in the group instantly erupted, grabbing brooms and whatever else they could find, ready to storm downstairs and beat the creature to death. Then, a message from Old Man Miller, our neighbor in 502, flashed across the screen: “Don’t you dare go down there! That’s a Man-Faced Ape, and it loves brains!” “Someone from back home was killed by one of those things!” he added, a second message following swiftly. “Legend has it, they’re strong as an ox, can shatter a human skull with a single swipe, then scoop out the brains and devour them. After that, it’ll crawl inside the corpse and puppet the dead like a doll!” Having just seen the ape’s brutal, bloody feast, then reading Old Man Miller’s chilling words, a shiver raced down my spine. But… that sounded a bit too wild, even for me. And I wasn’t the only skeptic in the chat. Seeing the collective doubt, Old Man Miller launched into a vivid, dramatic tale of the Man-Faced Ape killings back in his hometown. I was hanging on his every word when the doorbell suddenly shrilled, jolting me out of my skin. “Delivery, signature required!” a muffled voice called from outside. It was Black Friday sales week, and our regular delivery driver often worked late into the night. I pushed myself off the couch, heading for the door. The moment my fingers brushed the cold metal of the doorknob, my eyelid twitched violently. I pulled out my shopping app to check – my own packages were still stuck at the distribution center, not due until tomorrow. Alex’s, maybe? But he hardly ever ordered anything online. I pressed my eye to the peephole. Sure enough, a delivery driver stood there. His face was mostly hidden beneath the brim of a baseball cap, a large box cradled in his arms. “Hello? Can you open up for a signature?” This time, he didn’t ring the bell, just rapped his knuckles directly on the door, almost as if he knew I was standing right behind it. Maybe it was Old Man Miller’s wild tales getting to me, but something about him felt… off. Unsettling. “Just leave it at the door,” I called back, my voice muffled through the wood. The driver paused, then turned and walked across the hall to Brenda’s apartment, 703, ringing her bell. “Hello? Delivery, signature required!” My heart slammed against my ribs. He’d only had one package in his arms, and when I wouldn’t open, he’d just… gone to Brenda’s? “Coming!” Brenda’s voice sang out from 703. Frantically, I dialed Brenda’s number, but before it could even connect, I heard the click of her lock. Peering through the peephole again, I watched as Brenda took the box from the driver. He turned, walked away, and she closed her door. What the hell? Was it really her package? Had I just been paranoid? Just then, Brenda answered. “Lily? What’s up?” I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could utter a word, a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the phone. “Brenda?! What happened?” I gasped, but the line went dead. I tried calling again, but it just rang and rang. A knot of dread tightening in my stomach, I quickly texted her, then immediately called Mike, our property manager. The moment Mike picked up, Brenda’s reply popped up on my screen: “Nothing, just killed a huge spider.” A spider. Right. False alarm. I hung up with Mike, collapsing back onto the couch, trying to lose myself in Old Man Miller’s ongoing ape tale. “And after it eats the brain,” Old Man Miller typed, “the Man-Faced Ape can steal the victim’s memories, even perfectly mimic their voice…” The story grew wilder with each passing moment, and the neighbors in the chat were locked in a furious debate. Mr. Rodriguez from 402: “I’ve heard this story a hundred times. Last time it was a bear, now it’s an ape. Pure fiction!” Ms. Davis from 201: “What if just one of those wild stories turns out to be true?” Mr. Kim from 503: “And the garage has been missing gas lately. Maybe this ape is just a diversion for a thief?” Mike, the property manager, finally chimed in, assuring everyone the police had been called and specialists were on their way. He urged us all to lock our doors and windows, especially since the video clearly showed the creature scrambling into our building. I went around double-checking every lock, calling Alex, who was still out. He just laughed, completely unconcerned. “An ape, Lily? If I can’t handle an ape, how am I supposed to protect you?” “Just pulling into the complex now. Talk to you in a bit.” The moment I hung up, a soft knock echoed from the door. “Lily, are you asleep yet? I brought you some durian cake.” It was Brenda’s voice. I walked to the door, peering through the peephole— Brenda stood there, holding a slice of durian cake. Her eyes were fixed, unnervingly, on the peephole, as if she could see right through the wood and into my apartment. Brenda and I were close. She was a single mom, and her daughter, Daisy, often came over for help with her homework – a sweet, well-behaved kid. Brenda frequently brought me homemade treats as a thank you, but never this late. Durian cake was my absolute favorite, but suddenly Old Man Miller’s words echoed in my mind: the Man-Faced Ape crawls inside the corpse. My gaze snapped to the top of Brenda’s head. She had her hair pulled back in a neat bun, making it impossible to see if her skull was intact. Wait… no. I distinctly remembered her hair being down, flowing around her shoulders, when she opened the door for the delivery driver earlier. Who puts their hair in a bun right before bed? Aside from that, Brenda looked perfectly normal. The idea that she was dead, a puppet for some ape, felt utterly outlandish. Ludicrous. “Thanks, Brenda, but I’m trying to cut back on late-night snacks,” I replied, forcing a polite tone. “Daisy can have it.” Brenda slowly turned her head, looking back into her own apartment. What was she looking at? I frowned, puzzled. “Alright then,” she said, a faint smile gracing her lips as she turned and carried the cake back inside her apartment. A cold jolt shot through me. Brenda had acted as if she had no idea Daisy was even in her own home! Just then, Alex’s key scraped in the lock. He’d arrived. He exchanged a quick “Evening, Brenda” with her as she was about to step inside, then came in. I quickly shut my door and checked the peephole again. Brenda had gone inside. I was about to tell Alex about Brenda’s strange behavior when he spoke first. “Lily,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Someone dumped an entire box of brand new tissues on the lawn downstairs. Weird, right?” My brow furrowed. New tissues? Suddenly, a memory flashed, sharp and clear. The large box the delivery driver had been carrying earlier – it had the exact same brand logo for tissues on it! Had the driver dumped the tissues? Had he emptied the box… to carry something else inside? Like… The answer that sprang to mind made the hair on my arms stand on end. Could that box have been carrying… the Man-Faced Ape? I quickly recounted everything that had just happened. Then I asked him, “Alex, when you saw Brenda just now, did you smell anything? Like… blood?” He shook his head. “No, but her perfume was incredibly strong. It almost choked me just standing in the doorway!” Perfume… to cover the scent of blood? My heart lurched. “Oh no. Daisy’s in danger!” “‘Brenda’ didn’t know Daisy was home. Daisy must have hidden before she was discovered!” “And my casual words had just exposed Daisy’s presence!” A wave of sickening regret washed over me. Alex and I moved as fast as we could, gathering three male neighbors at Brenda’s door. Big Dave from 601, Gabe the tech guy from 602, and Stretch from 603. They’d all brought weapons: a folding chair, a golf club, a frying pan. At the mention of hunting a Man-Faced Ape, they’d all been eager, practically chomping at the bit. But when they heard Brenda might be dead, their faces went grim, solemn. Alex returned with a sledgehammer from our apartment. If ‘Brenda’ wouldn’t open up, we’d smash the lock. I gave the others a quick glance, a silent signal to be ready, then knocked on Brenda’s door. “Brenda, is that cake still around? Alex says he’s suddenly craving some!” “Brenda?” After a long, agonizing pause, Brenda’s voice finally came from inside. “There’s only one slice of cake. You all wouldn’t be able to share it.” A chill spread through my chest. Brenda’s door didn’t have a peephole. How did she know there was more than one of us out here? My mind raced. “Brenda, actually, Alex and his buddies are playing poker,” I blurted out, “and they all hate durian! So they’re betting on who has to eat it if they lose!” Brenda’s voice turned cold. “Daisy already ate the cake. Daisy, tell Lily there’s no more durian cake.” And sure enough, Daisy’s small voice piped up from inside: “Lily, the durian cake is all gone.” “Daisy, you’re still awake this late?” I quickly engaged, trying to buy time. “Remember to brush your teeth after that cake, okay? Oh, and hey, didn’t you ask me about that tough math problem earlier tonight? I figured it out! Come over and I’ll explain it to you!” Daisy’s voice came again: “Tomorrow, Lily. I’m sleepy!” I met Alex’s gaze, my voice firm, decisive: “It’s not opening the door. Smash the lock!” Without a second thought, Alex swung the sledgehammer, bringing it down hard on the door’s deadbolt. I quickly explained to the others: “I made up that math problem.” Therefore, it wasn’t Daisy speaking. It was the Man-Faced Ape, mimicking her voice! The ape hadn’t seen through my lie, which meant it didn’t have Daisy’s memories. Which meant… Daisy was still alive! I yelled into the apartment, “Daisy, stay hidden! Don’t come out! We’re coming to get you!” The other three neighbors joined in, a flurry of smashing and kicking, a terrifying symphony of destruction. In less than a minute, the lock splintered, the door burst inward. We stormed inside! But Brenda was gone. The ape was gone. The glass pane on the entryway window was shattered, a gaping hole suggesting the Man-Faced Ape had just made its escape through there. The floor in the entryway was slick with a significant pool of blood, thick strands of hair matted within it – Brenda’s hair, unmistakably. From the balcony, Daisy’s voice cried out, “Help! I’m here!” My eyes darted to the balcony, where a pair of small hands clung desperately to the railing, their grip visibly weakening. “Daisy!” Alex lunged forward, charging towards her. He was just a step from the balcony door when I screamed, my voice tearing through the air: “Alex! Don’t!” “That’s not Daisy!” Alex spun around. I pointed at the balcony’s sliding glass door, which was open just wide enough for one person to squeeze through. “It’s a trap! Get back!” The words were barely out of my mouth when a dark blur dropped from the balcony ceiling, lunging straight for the back of Alex’s head! “Look out!” Big Dave bellowed, flinging his folding chair like a projectile. It spun through the air, aimed right for Alex’s face. Alex reacted instantly, ducking, the chair whistling past his head. It struck the Man-Faced Ape squarely, knocking it hard to the ground. Gabe and Stretch charged, golf club and frying pan at the ready. But the Man-Faced Ape was already rolling, a blur of motion, slipping under the railing, and leaping into the darkness beyond. By the time they reached the balcony edge, it was gone. Clinging to the railing, where Daisy had been, was nothing but a worn rabbit doll, its tiny paws covered in rubber gloves. “Daisy!” I rushed back into the apartment, frantically searching. Finally, I found the terrified little girl, trembling in the bedroom closet. Alex, meanwhile, had found Brenda’s body, hidden beneath the sofa. A horrifying, bowl-sized crater gaped at the crown of her head. She was still, cold, no breath, no pulse. The moment Daisy saw her mother, she shattered. She collapsed onto Brenda’s lifeless form, her wails tearing through the silence, raw and guttural. Big Dave, unable to bear the horrific scene, grabbed his folding chair, his face contorted with rage, ready to hunt down the Man-Faced Ape for revenge. Alex and Stretch quickly restrained him, insisting he couldn’t go alone. Gabe had already called the police, relaying the horrific events to the community chat. The chat exploded. Panic, absolute pandemonium. Old Man Miller’s Man-Faced Ape legend… it was all true! Killing, soul-stealing, voice mimicry – every terrifying detail, spot on! Fear, cold and suffocating, instantly seized every heart in the complex. The entire community felt warped, sinister. Only one neighbor remained chillingly calm, typing: “Are you sure you guys didn’t just team up to kill Brenda and make up this story?” Big Dave saw that, and his rage flared anew. He launched into a furious voice message, a torrent of righteous anger, and the keyboard warrior instantly went silent. Amidst my grief and simmering fury, another question gnawed at me: Who was that delivery driver? From the glimpse I’d caught of his profile, he wasn’t anyone I recognized. Why would he want to harm Brenda and me? We had no quarrel with this Man-Faced Ape. As a wild animal, it had no reason to target us specifically. So, it had to have been controlled by someone. Only humans truly sought to harm other humans. Soon, police cruisers and wildlife management vehicles swarmed the complex. Officers, K9 units, and specialists with capture gear fanned out, launching a full-scale hunt for the Man-Faced Ape. But before they even located the ape, the K9s sniffed out another body. A morbidly curious neighbor at the scene posted a photo of the corpse in the chat. I clicked it open, and my breath hitched. It was the delivery driver. The report said the driver’s death mirrored Brenda’s: a massive hole in the skull, brains scooped clean. But unlike Brenda, the driver’s limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, and human tissue was scattered around the body, consistent with a high-fall impact. This revelation threw me into a fresh spiral of confusion. I’d been so certain the Man-Faced Ape was the driver’s pet, his weapon, that he’d ordered it to kill. But now… the driver was dead too, clearly a victim of the ape itself. Why would the Man-Faced Ape kill its supposed master? When I gave my statement, I dumped all my questions on the officers. The detective, a stoic woman with tired eyes, listened patiently. “Someone reported a scream from downstairs shortly after you entered 703,” she explained. “The delivery driver likely died then.” “His identity was verified. He was indeed here to deliver packages. The shipping label on the box was addressed to Brenda, and the apartment number matched.” “For now, we have no reason to suspect the driver was involved in any wrongdoing.” “As for everything else, we’ll get to the bottom of it, swiftly.” The police showed me his ID. I’d never seen him before, truly didn’t know him. My heart sank even lower. If it wasn’t the driver, then the mastermind was still out there. Someone else. But who? I prided myself on never making enemies, never crossing anyone. I racked my brain, sifting through everyone I knew, but no one fit the chilling profile of a suspect. As I finished my statement, a commotion erupted downstairs. Someone in the chat reported: the K9 unit had found the Man-Faced Ape! Under police pursuit, it had scaled the fence and fled the complex. Police and wildlife management personnel rushed after it. Officers took Brenda’s and the driver’s bodies away. Daisy, thankfully, was taken into protective custody. Alex and I walked back into our apartment, the silence between us heavy, devoid of comfort. We were both heartbroken over Brenda’s death. But I, more than Alex, knew grief wouldn’t solve anything. I bit my lip, then pulled up the community chat, found Old Man Miller’s profile picture, and sent him a friend request. I needed to know more about these Man-Faced Apes. Old Man Miller accepted immediately. His very first message made my breath catch in my throat. “Hello there, Man-Faced Ape.” What? My mind reeled. I typed a rapid string of question marks. Old Man Miller chuckled in his reply: “Forgive my bluntness. Over the internet, I can’t tell if you’re human or ape. Just a little test, you understand!” I didn’t have time for jokes. I cut straight to it: “Your story in the chat… it sounded unfinished. What happened to the Man-Faced Ape back in your hometown? The one that killed all those villagers?” Old Man Miller replied: “It vanished.” I frowned. “Vanished? Did it just… run away?” Old Man Miller typed: “I never truly had an answer. Not until a decade after it happened, when I visited the Appalachians and met an old folklorist. His explanation… that’s the only way I could begin to make sense of what happened back then.” “He told me the Man-Faced Ape was a monkey under a curse.” My heart hammered against my ribs. A curse? “Just like humans experience the uncanny valley when they see something almost human, animals also react with revulsion to their own kind that looks… off. Especially when that ‘off’ means a human face.” “To animals, humans are the biggest threat to their survival. So when they see one of their own with a human face, it fills them with a terror akin to seeing a ghost.” “And that, the folklorist said, is precisely the point. The appearance of a human face on an animal is an ancient deity’s curse on humanity.” “From the moment humans first held up fire and stepped out of their caves, this Old God foresaw a future where gods would be forgotten. So, He wove an eternal spell into all living things, ensuring that, at random, any creature born could develop a human face, triggering humanity’s uncanny valley, a stark warning of the Creator’s continued existence.” “And the creatures chosen by this curse? They have a chance to hear His call, to learn the true path to becoming human.” “That path… is slaughter. The slaughter of humans.” “They kill humans, devour the brain – humanity’s most prized possession – then seize the human body, spreading the curse of the uncanny valley further.” “It’s like an organ transplant; the Man-Faced Ape needs to find a compatible human host to truly merge, to truly become human. If the match fails, the controlled corpse can only last a day at most.” “But if the transplant succeeds, it fully inherits the host’s memories, forgetting its own past as an ape, and lives on as a human among us.” “So, every cursed Man-Faced Ape has three possible fates:” “Either it becomes human, living among us right now; or it fails to find a suitable host and only briefly lives as a human for a day; or it returns to its pack, tormented and bullied to death by its own kind.” I didn’t feel fear after hearing Old Man Miller’s tale. Just… disgust. What kind of petty, insecure Old God was this? Just because humanity got smarter, He threw a tantrum and decided to be a cosmic jerk? And besides, letting non-humans become human – wasn’t that betraying the very concept of creation itself? Like calls to like. A monkey turning human halfway through? What was the point of that? If I ever learned that Old God’s name, I swear I’d go to the old chapel on the hill and lodge a formal complaint with whatever higher power was listening. But now, finally, I understood why that Man-Faced Ape had come for me. Because ever since I was a kid, I’d been immune to the “uncanny valley.” I first learned the term in middle school. Kids would pass around videos designed to creep people out, to trigger that uneasy feeling, but when I watched them, I felt… nothing. And it wasn’t just that. Most people had instinctive likes or dislikes for different animals – adorable puppies and kittens, disgusting spiders, terrifying snakes. I never did. I couldn’t fathom what made a puppy “cute” or a spider “gross.” Most people had that primal unease; I didn’t. To an Old God trying to use the uncanny valley to instill fear in humanity’s heart, I must have been an abomination. An ultimate defiance. Was I really doomed to be hunted by human-faced animals for the rest of my life because of this? That seemed like a truly miserable fate. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was Mike, the property manager, tagging everyone in the main community chat: [Forwarding latest police update: The Man-Faced Ape that entered our complex was apprehended ten minutes ago with a tranquilizer gun. It will be humanely euthanized.] A flood of likes and celebratory emojis followed. Mr. Evans from 403: “Justice served!” Mrs. Jenkins from 604: “Finally, a good night’s sleep. Rest in peace, Brenda.” I wanted to tell Alex the news, but he was still in the bathroom. I walked to the door, my hand raised to knock. Just then, he pulled it open. When I told him, a flicker of something dark, a shadow, crossed his eyes. “That’s good,” he said, his voice flat. He rubbed his hair with a towel, walking into the bedroom. My heart ached watching him. Alex was deeply empathetic; he’d tear up just reading about sick kids in the news. Daisy had lost her mom, and Brenda had been a regular presence in our lives. He must be devastated. I figured I’d hurry and shower, then go talk to him, try to offer some comfort. I stepped into the bathroom, which was thick with steam, like a sauna. I flicked the switch for the exhaust fan, but nothing happened. I looked up. The spot where the fan should have been was empty, just a gaping ventilation shaft. I went back to the bedroom. “Alex,” I asked, “what happened to the bathroom exhaust fan?” He frowned, running a hand through his damp hair. “Really? I’ll call maintenance tomorrow.” So Alex didn’t know either. Had it been ripped out by that massive storm last week? I murmured to myself, heading back into the bathroom. I turned on the shower, letting the warm water cascade over my head, washing away some of the tension, my thoughts finally beginning to untangle. Suddenly, a chilling realization hit me. I had overlooked a crucial detail. If the delivery driver was innocent, why had he brought Brenda’s package to my door first? Even if he’d misread the address, how could a seasoned driver not notice that a box full of tissues had been swapped for a Man-Faced Ape? It made no sense. Unless… the delivery driver had already been dead at that point. Which would mean… there were two Man-Faced Apes.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “392699”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Three years after my death, my CEO husband, Julian Vance, served me with a lawsuit. His claim: the kidney I’d supposedly donated to his golden girl, Serena Bellwether, was defective. With no response from my end, he held a press conference, grandly transferring twenty percent of his company shares to Serena. Finally, his patience snapped, and he stormed back to our old hometown, determined to find me. A neighbor, startled, called out, “Lily? She hasn’t been back since her grandpa passed.” He hammered on the door of my childhood home. My younger sister, Maya, opened it. “Julian Vance? Don’t you know my sister’s been dead for two years?” The man, hands plunged into his pockets, sneered. “Lily Evans playing the disappearing act again? Trying to make me regret it? She dared to ram Serena’s car two years ago, I cut off her cards, and she still wants to throw a tantrum? If Serena’s kidney hadn’t acted up, I wouldn’t even think about forgiving her!” Maya’s brow furrowed. “She’s truly dead! And now you talk about forgiveness? What a joke!” Julian, however, spotted Buster, our old dog, wagging his tail inside. “Buster’s here. Where else could she be? Tell her I’m throwing her a bone. If she’s too stubborn, she can forget ever finding me again!” Buster suddenly limped forward, a frantic, yelping bark tearing from his throat, followed by a full-body spasm. Maya scrambled for the oxygen tank. My spirit reached out instinctively, only to pass straight through him—I was long gone from this world. Julian frowned, a ripple of disgust crossing his face. “Stupid dog! Want another kick?” Two years ago, he’d struck me for Serena’s sake. Buster, our loyal protector, had jumped to my defense and been kicked, leaving his right leg with a permanent nervous tremor. Maya’s voice cracked, raw with grief. “She’s dead! And if she were alive, she’d never see you! I’d make sure she stayed as far away from you as possible!” Julian’s sneer twisted into something uglier. “She hooked up with some wild man behind my back, didn’t she? Just as Serena said, she’s a loose woman!” My spirit felt as if it were being torn apart—I had been driven to my death by him and Serena, and even in death, I was subjected to this vile insult. “Don’t you dare spew such lies! Get out of our house!” Julian’s voice turned vicious. “Everything your family has, I gave you! Your brother’s wedding funds? I paid for them!” He wasn’t entirely wrong. He had extended a hand when my mother was gravely ill and my sister-in-law was pressured into an abortion. But he didn’t know the full truth: I’d been born with only one kidney. The doctor who performed my pre-surgical checks had been bribed by Serena. During the operation, I’d received only half the anesthetic dose. I was awake, enduring excruciating pain as my kidney was extracted and an artificial one implanted. Post-operative complications and infection claimed my life within two weeks. And all that time, he had been by Serena’s side. Maya’s voice broke. “Go to the hospital! Check the death certificate!” Julian scoffed. “The hospital said she was discharged, healthy and fine!” He hadn’t even bothered with a simple verification, choosing only to believe the lies. Just then, my older brother, Leo, arrived home from his construction job, his eyes blazing red. “Julian Vance! You have the audacity to show your face here! The money I borrowed from you? It’s all been paid back!” 2 Julian took a cigarette from his assistant, lighting it, the smoke blurring his features. Leo swatted the cigarette from his hand, his grimy fist clenching, knuckles cracking. “You have no idea how my sister died, do you? Where were you when she got infected after donating her kidney, when they were fighting to save her life? You were in Serena Bellwether’s hospital room, probably peeling her an apple!” “Nonsense!” Julian frowned. “Serena’s recovery was excellent after the surgery. It’s only recently she started showing rejection symptoms. Lily Evans hid her medical history when she donated her kidney, and now she wants to renege on her word?” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through a chat history. “Look, this is her pre-op conversation with the doctor. It clearly states she had two perfectly healthy kidneys!” Maya snatched the phone, slamming it to the ground. “That’s a forgery by Serena! She swapped the real medical report! Go check the anesthesia records from the surgery, the dosage wasn’t even enough!” Julian stared at the shattered screen, a flicker of memory crossing his face—after my surgery, he’d visited my hospital room and seen my face, ashen as paper, beads of cold sweat on my forehead. At the time, he’d dismissed it as me being dramatic. Now… now, he thought back. “Impossible,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Serena isn’t that kind of person…” Before the words fully left his lips, Buster suddenly broke free from Maya’s embrace, limping furiously towards Julian’s briefcase, tearing at it, biting like a mad dog. Maya cried out, pulling Buster away, but a yellowed slip of paper fluttered from a torn seam in the briefcase. It was a note I’d secretly slipped to a nurse before my surgery, scrawled in my own blood: “The doctor was bribed. Help me…” Julian’s pupils contracted sharply. At that very moment, his phone rang, the voice on the other end urgent, breathless: “Mr. Vance, Miss Bellwether… Miss Bellwether just passed away due to acute renal failure! The kidney inside her… it doesn’t seem to be the one donated by Ms. Evans!” The air in the room solidified, heavy and cold. I floated in mid-air, watching Julian stumble backward, knocking over the small charcoal brazier by the door. Flames licked at his pant leg, but he seemed oblivious, his eyes fixed on the blood-stained note on the floor. A low, guttural roar, like that of a cornered beast, rumbled in his throat. It became clear: Serena had found a matching kidney donor long before I “donated” mine. But to bind Julian to her forever, she’d orchestrated this elaborate scheme, making me the supposed donor, then secretly swapping my kidney for someone else’s. And I, with my single, vulnerable kidney, had rapidly succumbed after the forced surgery, becoming a tragic pawn in her twisted game. Now, the truth was laid bare in such a brutal, devastating way. But what could this belated realization ever salvage? Buster continued to bark hoarsely, flecks of blood staining his foam. My spirit grew increasingly transparent, my last gaze lingering on the old oak tree outside our home—the place where Julian and I had buried tokens of our love. Now, only desolation remained. “Leo Evans, your family bled me dry through Lily. Can you ever repay that?” A flicker of raw pain crossed Leo’s eyes. He lowered his head, muttering, “Yes, I burdened her. But you… you have no right to accuse me!” He took two steps, grabbing Julian by the collar. “When Lily married you, I was the first to object. She knelt outside our door for a day and a night, begging me and Dad to agree…” “And what was the result?! You broke her heart, and then you took her life! You should have lived happily ever after with your childhood sweetheart, not come here to disturb her resting spirit!” “Julian Vance! You’re a monstrous scumbag, worse than an animal!” Julian’s face darkened. He pressed the smoldering cigarette butt onto Leo’s clenched fist. The scent of burning flesh immediately filled the air. “Brother!” “It was just one kidney! I gave her ten million dollars! What kind of scumbag is that generous?” “She agreed to it herself, didn’t she? And now you blame me?” Leo roared, “Ten million?! The hundred thousand for the wedding and the five hundred thousand for Mom’s medical bills—I paid you back every cent! You’re slandering us!” “You took the money, but you won’t admit it? Is your whole family this disgusting?” Julian’s brows furrowed in annoyance. He immediately ordered his men to seize my family. “Release those vicious hounds! Teach them a lesson!” Panic seized me. I instinctively dropped to my knees, pleading, but I could only watch helplessly as dark-suited men stormed in, surrounding my family. Drooling, snarling dogs lunged. Leo shielded Maya, but Buster was savagely ripped apart, his body a bloody mess. “No! Stop! Stop it, all of you!” I screamed, my voice raw and desperate, but no one could hear me. Blood-stained tears streamed down my face. Only Buster, in his dying moments, looked at me with mournful eyes. My Buster, you saw me the moment Julian walked in! But I could only watch, helpless, as his breath faded. “This is just a small lesson,” Julian snarled. “In three days, Lily Evans better show up herself, or this dead dog will be your fate.” The door slammed shut, shaking the house. Years ago, because I had spoken out of turn to Serena, Julian had deliberately crippled my family’s factory, causing my father to fall critically ill. Now, he was perfectly capable of doing it again. For Serena, he would stop at nothing. For two years, because of that kidney, my spirit had been bound to Julian, a torment worse than any hell. Downstairs, Serena called him. The moment her name appeared on his screen, the rage on Julian’s face instantly melted away. “Hello, Serena. What is it?” My spirit, drawn by an inexplicable pull, was instantly tugged to Julian’s side. I watched him, his face alight with tenderness, as he spoke on the phone. “Oh, Julian, is Lily still hiding from us?” “It’s all my body’s fault, I’m so weak, I couldn’t even fight off the rejection, and I ruined the kidney Lily donated to me. She must be so reluctant to give me another one…” From the other end of the line, Serena’s feigned, overly sweet voice made me gag. “Silly girl, don’t say that. I’ll arrange for the best bio-artificial kidney for her. She won’t have a choice!” “The doctors said your body can only use a living organ. Lily Evans works out, she’s strong as an ox. She’s living perfectly fine with an artificial kidney!” Julian comforted Serena for half an hour before reluctantly hanging up. Just then, an assistant-like man knocked hurriedly and entered. “Mr. Vance, someone anonymously sent a death certificate…” Julian raised an eyebrow. “Whose?” “It’s… Ms. Evans’.” 3 Julian took it, casually at first. My name, “Lily Evans,” was clearly printed on it. He scoffed. “Lily Evans, you really are something. You even forged a death certificate to hide from me. Do you think that’s going to work?” The assistant hesitated. “Mr. Vance, the death certificate isn’t a fake. I verified it, and the police station confirmed…” “Enough!” Julian interrupted impatiently. “This is clearly just one of Lily Evans’s little tricks, trying to make me feel remorse. She’s dreaming!” “Go find her. No matter what corner she’s hiding in, dig up the earth if you have to, just bring her to me!” The assistant sighed, nodding quickly. “Yes, Mr. Vance!” A week passed. The assistant returned, his expression peculiar as he delivered his report. “Mr. Vance, the private investigators confirmed Ms. Evans has indeed passed away. Her body was cremated at the City Memorial Mortuary, and her ashes were personally signed for by Leo Evans. There’s no mistake.” Julian frowned. “Bullshit! Lily Evans values her life too much, how could she just die? She even went to a remote spiritual sanctuary high in the Rockies, seeking alternative remedies just to stay alive!” I gave a bitter smile. He didn’t know. I went to the Rockies to find a cure for him. That year, Julian had contracted malaria during a business trip to Africa. No matter what medication he took, his fever wouldn’t break. I heard there was an ancient remedy in the mountains that could cure malaria. I trekked through harsh terrain, enduring high altitudes that left me near collapse from oxygen deprivation. Finally, at an ancient monastery high in the Rockies, I found the formula. I don’t know if the remedy truly worked, or if my sincerity moved the heavens, but after Julian took the medicine, his fever actually broke. How ironic that he believed I had sought that cure for myself. The assistant looked troubled. “But Mr. Vance, I hired two different private detective agencies, and their findings… are identical. Ms. Evans might really be…” Julian slammed his hand on the table, his voice rising in anger. “Nonsense! I’ve known her my entire life! She’s not the kind of person who gives up until she gets what she wants. Why would she ever give up and die? She’s determined to cling to me forever.” “Maybe she knew about her kidney problem all along, and she’s just faking her death to avoid me. She’s probably living it up somewhere right now!” The assistant was stunned into silence. “But Mr. Vance, that’s too dramatic!” Julian laughed mockingly. “She was the star of her university drama club. Faking her death? That’s her specialty!” The assistant was left completely speechless. “So, Mr. Vance, should I continue the investigation?” Julian lit a cigarette, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Yes, keep digging. Find out which mortuary cremated her, and which cemetery her ashes were buried in. I want to see if Lily Evans truly arranged everything flawlessly!” I stood behind him, watching the man I’d loved for seven years, my heart chilling to its core. My spirit felt even more translucent. Another week passed. The assistant returned, his face unusually grim. He placed a file on Julian’s desk. “I found that Ms. Evans was cremated at the City Memorial Mortuary. The cremation date was two years ago.” “And her ashes were interred at Greenhaven Cemetery, in the suburbs, section C, row six, plot eight.” “The cemetery staff confirmed that her brother and sister visit every year to pay their respects.” Julian’s expression turned cold, his thin lips parting. “Well, well. Quite thorough arrangements, aren’t they?” “It seems, Lily Evans, you’re truly determined to hide from me!” He abruptly stood, striding purposefully towards the door. “Let’s go! To Greenhaven Cemetery!” The assistant hurried to follow him. An hour later, the car pulled up to the gates of Greenhaven Cemetery, on the outskirts of the city. Julian stepped out into the light drizzle. The assistant quickly opened a black umbrella for him. At section C, row six, plot eight. The gravestone was still new, the inscription clear and stark: [Lily Evans, Beloved Daughter of the Evans Family] On the small black-and-white photo, my younger self smiled faintly, from a time when my eyes were bright with youthful hope.

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My mother was hardwired to defy. She lived to contradict, to twist every instruction into its opposite. Before my final high school exams, I’d pleaded with her, countless times, not to touch my things. She’d nodded, then turned right around and stitched a cheat sheet into the lining of my jacket. The result? I was caught, accused of cheating, and expelled on the spot. My academic record, ruined. I brought the sealed envelope of my ruined future home, begging her again, please, don’t touch it. I stepped away for a moment, and by the time I was back, she’d torn open the seal, pen in hand, “editing” its contents. I confronted her, my voice raw with fury, but my dad just smiled, calling it her “good intentions,” telling me to be more understanding. The rage, the sheer helplessness, drove me to a nervous breakdown. My doctor prescribed quiet rest. But my mother, scoffing at my “fragility,” invited a gaggle of her male friends over, turning our living room into a raucous party, claiming “exercise is the only path to health.” It was there, amidst the drunken laughter and blaring music, that their leering advances and constant harassment left me feeling utterly violated, plunging me into a severe depression. I picked up a filleting knife, desperate to reclaim my dignity, but my dad and brother blocked my path. “They’re your mom’s friends,” my brother scoffed, “you only lost your innocence.” In the ensuing struggle, the knife found its way into my heart. But then, I opened my eyes again. I swore, with every fiber of my being, that my mother’s “good intentions” would, this time, bring ruin upon them all. 01 The moment my fingers closed around that folded stack of notes hidden in my jacket lining, a jolt of electrifying certainty shot through me. My entire body trembled. I was back. I was sure of it. I had been reborn. In my last life, my mother had insisted on packing my things. “Just focus on studying, sweetie,” she’d chirped, “Mom will take care of everything else.” I’d specifically told her not to touch anything for the exams. But she’d gone and sewn that cheat sheet into my coat. During the test, it had slipped out. I was caught, branded a cheater, expelled, and became the entire school’s laughingstock. Broken and reeling, I’d limped home. I’d warned her, begged her, not to touch my academic records. But the second I stepped into the bathroom, she’d torn open the sealed envelope, pen in hand, “correcting” the contents. “I told you not to touch it!” I’d shrieked, my voice cracking. “Are you deaf?! Do you hate me so much you won’t be happy until I’m dead?!” She’d looked up, her face a picture of pure innocence. “Mom didn’t know anything, darling. I just wanted to help.” Before I could say another word, my brother, Leo, had kicked me to the floor. “Your grades were always trash anyway, you wouldn’t have passed even without cheating. And you have the nerve to blame Mom? You ungrateful wretch!” Leo was allergic to dairy, but my mom, ignoring doctor’s orders, had bought him a cream cake. It had almost put him into organ failure. She’d, of course, blamed me for buying it. From that day on, Leo had hated me, constantly spitting venom, wishing me a terrible death. My dad had chimed in too. “Your mom meant well, Lily. Girls don’t need much schooling anyway. Just get married soon.” I couldn’t comprehend twelve years of grinding hard work, gone. The sheer anger had choked me, and I’d passed out. The doctor had diagnosed a nervous breakdown, prescribing complete rest. But my mom had dismissed it as me being “delicate,” then invited her male friends over for a party. “More exercise equals more health!” she’d declared. It was there, amidst the drunken revelry, that their leering advances and constant harassment left me feeling utterly violated. My condition worsened, spiraling into deep depression. I’d picked up a filleting knife, desperate for justice, for a shred of dignity. But my dad had shielded them, wrestling with me. In the chaos, the knife had plunged into my heart. Even as I lay dying, I’d heard Leo’s words: “She only lost her dignity, but they’re Mom’s friends!” “She just had bad luck. She didn’t appreciate Mom’s hard work. She deserved to die!” In that moment, I’d been consumed by regret. I should have let my mother unleash her brand of “good intentions” on them. I shouldn’t have stopped her. This time, I’d toss the cheat sheet. I’d act oblivious. And when her “good intentions” boomeranged back, hitting them square in the face, they’d only have their own bad luck to blame. 02 It wasn’t until the third day, after I’d finished the final exam, that I truly allowed myself to breathe. Walking out of the testing center, everything felt like a dream—a nightmare, thankfully, from which I had now woken. This time, everything was different. This time, I had a chance. My mom was a born contrarian. Tell her to go east, and she’d stubbornly march west. It wasn’t that she couldn’t understand words; she simply thrived on doing the exact opposite. Everyone in our family had always indulged her. I knew what I had to do: get into a college far, far away. As far from this house as possible. I’d already discarded the cheat sheet. There shouldn’t be any more screw-ups, right? Of course, against all expectations, there was a screw-up. The day college exam results were released, I went to school to fill out my applications. Before I left, my mom suddenly asked, “Results are out? Do you need Mom’s help with your applications?” I eyed her warily. “Don’t you dare pull any more stunts, or I swear, I’m done with you!” She plastered on a syrupy sweet smile. “No, no, darling, how could Mom? Mom just wants to help my Riley ease her worries.” “No worries to ease,” I said, ignoring her, and headed straight for school. I didn’t know then that she’d turned around and called our relatives. “Your Aunt Carol’s husband, Frank, can you help Riley fill out her applications? I’ll text you her Social Security number.” “Just apply for a vocational school. A woman’s virtue is her lack of talent, and a good trade is fine.” The moment I finished submitting my applications at school, my uncle called. “What did you apply for, Riley? Way too risky! Good thing your mom had me re-submit everything.” “Don’t worry, Riley, just wait for your acceptance letters!” An alarm blared in my mind. I checked, and sure enough—my uncle hadn’t just changed my applications; he’d changed my login password too. My whole body trembled. I’d warned her, explicitly, not to interfere. Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? Why was she so determined to ruin everything? 03 When I demanded the password from Uncle Frank, he just waved me off. “They’re all top-notch technical schools, don’t you worry. Your mom looked at them too, she wouldn’t let you get screwed over.” Don’t worry? How could I possibly relax? I knew these relatives. Every single one of them was a master of messing things up. It was because of him that my cousin Sarah, who could have gone to a proper university, ended up stuck at the worst trade school, just to be with his son. The moment I saw my new applications, my hands shook with rage. My original choices, all prestigious universities, had been replaced with applications to places like “Big Rig Technical Institute.” Thankfully, it wasn’t too late. I swallowed my fury, rushing home to confront my mom. “How could you let them mess with my college applications like that?!” “Didn’t I tell you, repeatedly, not to cause any more trouble? Will you only be happy when I’m off to college?!” She lowered her gaze, trembling as she wiped away imaginary tears, putting on her patented aggrieved act. “Your Uncle Frank and Aunt Carol, they’re not outsiders. Mom was just worried you didn’t have enough experience, so I thought they could guide you.” “When has Mom ever harmed you? Mom just didn’t want you to be jealous of others with good trade skills.” I wanted to scream, to tear my hair out. Those relatives barely finished elementary school. What “experience” did they have? Why would a good university degree not be enough? Was I some kind of masochist who wanted a lesser education? But my mom, as always, argued back, sticking to her twisted logic. Everyone else’s warnings were just hot air to her. I didn’t want to waste any more breath, so I just issued a cold warning. “From now on, don’t ask about my business, don’t interfere! It’s not your place.” “You just cause trouble. Can’t you understand plain English?!” Before I could finish, Leo rushed over and kicked me to the ground. “How dare you! How do you talk to Mom like that?!” “What do you mean Mom can’t understand English? She’s just looking out for you! With your lousy grades, what good is any application? You’ll end up at a community college anyway.” My dad chimed in, echoing him: “Exactly, Riley! Did a dog eat your conscience? Your mom cares about you so much, how can you be so ungrateful?!” I hit the hallway floor hard, a searing pain shooting through me, cold sweat beading on my forehead. No one moved to help me up. They just stood there, towering over me, judging me from their moral high ground. It took me a long moment to recover, watching their mouths move in a united front of condemnation. It was almost comical. My mom was a contrarian, someone who twisted every instruction into its opposite, but she wasn’t just doing it to me. Before, I used to clean up her messes. Now, I wouldn’t. I wanted to see how they would handle the fallout. The most important thing now was to placate them. I swallowed my anger, forcing myself to apologize. “I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t recognize your good intentions. You were definitely doing what’s best for me.” “You’ve lived longer than I have, Mom. You know best.” My mom graciously forgave me. Our family was a picture of harmonious happiness. Everyone was satisfied. I just hoped they’d stay stuck with my contrarian mom, forever. 04 After sorting out my applications, I started streaming from my room – which doubled as my study – to earn money. I knew my mom wouldn’t give me a dime for tuition or living expenses. To avoid interruptions, I locked my door. But my mom wasn’t having it. She started banging on the door, a frantic, insistent rhythm. “Riley, want some fruit?” “No!” I shouted back. “I’m allergic!” She acted like she hadn’t heard me, continuing to pound. “You’re so lucky! Your brother left some mango from breakfast, hurry and eat it.” Ha! “Left some”? She probably meant a few stringy mango pits. Did she really think I wouldn’t know? I yelled through the door, “I won’t eat it! I’m allergic to mangoes! Are you trying to kill me?!” She whined back, “Mom barely got any of this mango, it’s all for Riley…” There was no reasoning with her. She just kept chattering outside my door, as if nothing was wrong. My dad, annoyed by her incessant noise, stomped over and kicked my door open. He stood there, glaring into my room. “Riley Evans! Are you going to die if you open this door? Your mom’s just trying to show she cares. Will it kill you to come out and eat a bite? Who are you hiding from?” Her caring for me? She’d be lucky if she didn’t kill me. The more I told my mom not to do something, the more energized she became. It was like some twisted obedience test for her. I scoffed, then opened the door. “Can you just leave me alone? I’m live-streaming. If I don’t make money, are you going to pay for my college?” “Me pay? I don’t have any money. My money is for your brother, don’t even think about it!” My dad scratched his head in frustration. “Your dad knows you’re stressed, but your mom went to all the trouble to get you fruit. And this is how you treat her? Your attitude is terrible.” “She ‘got it for me’? Don’t you dare try to guilt-trip me.” My mom, with a saccharine voice, shoved a plate of messy mango pits towards my mouth. “Riley, hurry and eat. This mango is so sweet. Mom saved it just for you, for your nutrition.” The smell of mango filled my nostrils. It felt like my great-grandmother was beckoning me from beyond the grave. “Thanks, Mom! I love mangoes.” I forced a smile, taking the plate from her. The moment the door was shut, I dumped the entire plate, mango and all, into the trash without a second thought. I wasn’t going to suffer in silence anymore. And I wouldn’t argue with her again before leaving home. Most importantly, I had to play along, to let her twisted sense of satisfaction swell. “Ugh… she’s got wings now, can’t control her!” My mom continued to grumble outside the door because I hadn’t eaten the mango in front of her. When I didn’t come out to apologize, her face instantly darkened. She grabbed the clothes drying rack from the sofa and started banging it against my door with all her might. “Riley, open the door! It’s a good day, I’m going to air out your comforter!” I pretended not to hear her, figuring she’d stop after a while. But she didn’t. She just hit the door even harder. My patience snapped. I roared, “You bang that door one more time! See if I don’t come out there and kill you!” Silence. Complete, utter silence. It always took me losing my temper for her to stop. She was truly infuriating. 05 My mom acted as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice, squatting in the living room, her eyes welling with tears. Leo, my brother, saw her and his heart ached for her. He kicked my door open, yelling, “What are you trying to prove? Spending all day doing nothing, messing around with shady stuff.” “Mom’s still worried about you, waiting on you, and this is your attitude? If you keep this up, you can just get out!” I gave a mocking smile. No need for him to kick me out. I’d be gone once college started, never to return. In my last life, after my incident, I’d been extra cautious with my mom, protecting Leo from her schemes, ensuring he passed his exams and became a civil servant. This time, I wouldn’t intervene. I owed him nothing. How would he ever know true pain if the whip never cracked on his own back? When my acceptance letter finally came, I needed to mail my official transcript to the university. To be safe, I mailed it myself that very day. My live stream ended late, so when I groggily woke up the next morning, I saw my mom tiptoeing into my room, carefully taking a document envelope from my desk. I watched her perform her little charade, then turned over and went back to sleep. I didn’t get up until noon to ask her. “Mom, where did you put the envelope from my desk?” She gave me a fawning smile. “Mom was worried those school officials would mess up your details, so I opened it and checked it for you. You won’t blame Mom, will you?” I flared up, my voice scorching. “You can’t open official documents like that! It invalidates them! How am I supposed to mail it? How am I supposed to go to college?!” “Didn’t I tell you not to touch my things?! Are you deaf?!” She looked hurt, her voice a pathetic whine. “Mom didn’t know any of that. You didn’t tell me. Mom was just worried about you, how was I supposed to know it was so important?” She was still defending herself. “I saw it just sitting on your desk, I thought it was just a package.” And then, tears began to stream down her face. She raised her hand, as if to slap herself. “It’s all Mom’s fault, it’s all Mom’s mistake. Riley, please don’t be angry.” This was her usual trick. It’s how she’d brainwashed the other two idiots in this family. 06 Sure enough, her trick worked. The moment her hand went up, my dad’s foot connected with my side, sending me sprawling to the floor. “What’s all this racket about? It’s just a stupid envelope, what’s there to fight about?” My dad had been on a losing streak with his night fishing for days, boiling with frustration, and I was the perfect outlet for his pent-up anger. “So, one stupid envelope means you can’t go to college? Sounds like you’re just not cut out for it.” “Good thing, too. I wasn’t planning on paying for your college anyway. In a couple of years, we’ll find someone for you to marry, and that’ll help your brother with his wedding expenses.” I struggled to my feet, my gaze cold as I swept over him. Even though I’d expected it, a chill still ran through me, and unbidden tears welled in my eyes. “Riley, don’t blame your dad. It’s all Mom’s fault, every single bit of it.” My mom stood beside him, wailing and crying, but her eyes held a glimmer of victorious satisfaction. My dad shot me a disgusted look, then pulled my mom protectively behind him. “Bah! You ungrateful wretch, you dare talk back to your mom? Even a dog I raise knows how to wag its tail.” With that, he snatched the envelope from the table, tore it in half, and threw the pieces at my head. The scattered papers fell to the floor. My dad spat a few thick globs of phlegm onto them. I gripped the table, watching his performance, waiting for him to finish. “Go on, spit some more,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I got it wrong. I mailed my transcript yesterday. That one… that looks like yours, Dad. Your new job might be in trouble now.” “You absolutely can’t hold this against Mom, okay? It’s just a stupid envelope.”

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1 For three years of marriage, we’d longed for a child. After a year of grueling IVF treatments, my wife and I finally succeeded, expecting quadruplets. Her pregnancy had been a brutal journey, months of relentless morning sickness, her belly swelling round as a pumpkin. Doctors had suggested a reduction surgery, but she’d refused, her voice firm. “Caleb,” she’d said, her eyes pleading, “these are all our babies. I couldn’t bear to lose a single one.” Seeing her gaunt face, my heart had ached, and I’d silently sworn to protect her and our children for the rest of my life. Six months into her pregnancy, Sarah had started a betting pool with her friends, wagering on the babies’ genders. The final tally had been three boys and one girl, and she’d won the bet, raking in ten million dollars. It was shortly after, by pure accident, that I overheard Sarah Bellwether talking to her friends. “Sarah, your plan was brilliant, truly. Getting Caleb to raise four babies for four different men, all at once.” Sarah’s voice had been cool, dismissive. “Since I couldn’t give them the Bellwether name, I could at least give them a child. Caleb took his place, so this is simply what he owes.” My entire body had gone rigid, every hair on my arms standing on end. It hit me then—not a single one of the four babies in my wife’s womb was mine. “Sarah, you’re just incredible. You dealt with the problem of four children in one go.” Liz chimed in, her voice dripping with admiration. “Isn’t that the truth? And every single one of those fathers is handsome as hell. Their kids are bound to be stunning.” She sighed. “It’s a real shame about Jack. He was the school’s heartthrob back then, who’d have thought he’d get that awful disease and die so young? Good thing Sarah’s got such a kind heart, she saved a piece of him. Just waiting for the baby to be born now.” “Mark’s been obsessed with Sarah for almost twenty years, totally devoted, and never got what he wanted. He just wanted a baby with her, no matter what.” Another voice cut in. “Too bad Sarah’s heart only beats for Ryan. That’s why she came up with this IVF plan. That way, it’s not really cheating on Ryan, and everyone gets a kid.” “Wonder how Caleb will react when he finds out? All four babies in Sarah’s belly aren’t his. He’s probably going to lose it, right?” Sarah’s voice was cool, distant. “What can he do if he finds out? He has no one to blame but himself for taking a place he didn’t deserve.” Their laughter, sharp and ugly, filled the air, laced with undisguised malice and mockery. I stood frozen behind the door, a cold dread seeping from my feet and crawling straight up to the crown of my head. What… what did it all mean? The babies in my wife’s womb… they weren’t mine? For months, she’d struggled through this pregnancy. Every night, I’d pressed my ear to her belly, whispering to our children. Her legs had swollen, making it hard to walk, so I’d spent an hour massaging them daily. Her morning sickness had been relentless, her appetite gone, so I’d cooked and stewed, trying endless recipes just to get her to eat. My heart had ached for her hardship, and I’d cared for her day and night, even quitting my job. And now, I was being told that the children she carried had no blood ties to me? The voices from the living room continued their cruel discussion, but I couldn’t hear a thing past the roaring in my ears. Jack, they’d mentioned… I remembered him. He’d been in the same high school, Sarah’s first love, I think. I’d even felt a pang of sadness recently when I heard he’d died from a terrible illness. 2 I never imagined. He was gone, dead, and yet my wife carried his child in her womb. It was an absurdity beyond belief, a nameless horror that made my entire back prickle with dread. It took every ounce of my strength to hold myself back, to keep from bursting out of that door. From the living room, the betting pool continued, their voices rising and falling. Sarah’s laugh, every now and then, sent shivers through me. Four years of marriage, and I hadn’t known the woman sleeping beside me at all. I looked at my wife’s impossibly swollen belly, stretched taut, as if it might burst at any moment. Inside, four babies. One was Jack’s. One was Mark’s. Who were the other two? Mark, I knew too. He and Sarah were childhood friends, he’d adored her for years, a desperate, unrequited love. So, Sarah was truly “kind”—if she couldn’t give her heart, she’d give a child as compensation. A laugh tore from my throat, a sound more ragged than a sob. If Sarah wanted to give them children, why did she have to make me the “father”? What was even more grotesque was that not a single one of those four children was mine. How could she be so cruel? My fists clenched, my teeth digging into my lip until I tasted blood. I had believed Sarah’s willingness to endure the hardships of pregnancy was a testament to her love for me. Now I knew. It was all a lie. All a brutal, empty lie. Outside, the raucous chatter continued, a vibrant cacophony of voices. “I’m betting two boys, two girls.” “I’m putting my money on all four being boys.” Then, a clear, resonant male voice cut through the noise. “Why does everyone prefer boys? I think girls are wonderful. I’ll bet on three girls and one boy.” He turned, asking, “Sarah, do you prefer boys or girls?” The voice was familiar, Sarah’s personal assistant, I realized. Sarah’s tone was indifferent. “Boys or girls, I like them both. Boys are a bit better, though. Girls are just too delicate.” Liz pressed her. “So, Sarah, what’s your bet?” “Since Ryan likes girls, I’ll bet on three boys and one girl.” Ryan? It was him. A bitter, broken laugh escaped me. They had been carrying on, right under my nose, and I hadn’t even known. I didn’t know if they were simply brilliant actors, or if I had been utterly, tragically blind. Ryan’s voice floated back. “Girls should be raised delicately, it’s true.” Sarah chuckled, taking his hand. “You’re more delicate than a girl, Ryan. You burn your hand cooking, and you tear up.” “But… it really hurt, you know?” Ryan replied, then paused, a thought striking him. “Oh, right, Caleb never seems to cry. Last time, when he fell down the stairs protecting you, he broke his leg and didn’t even shed a tear. Has he really never cried, not once?” Sarah’s tone was casual, dismissive. “Caleb’s tough as nails, of course he doesn’t feel pain. He’s never cried, it’s true. Not like you, you scrape your knee and start tearing up.” Liz chimed in, sucking up. “That’s because Ryan has Sarah to comfort him. You can be vulnerable when someone cares. If no one cares, you just have to tough it out, like Caleb.” “Yeah, isn’t that why Sarah felt so bad for Ryan, dealing with the stress of raising a baby and losing sleep, that she cooked up this whole plan to make Caleb think they were his kids, so he’d be the unsuspecting dad?” “Caleb looks like he’s aged ten years already. Geez, when Sarah finally pops out those quadruplets, who knows what he’ll look like then.” 3 “She wouldn’t even look at him if he was naked and lying in bed, but now…” Their words grew crude, accompanied by vulgar laughter that made my stomach churn. I staggered back two steps, my face ashen. I was human too. How could I not feel pain? But I’d believed Sarah was carrying my children, that her pregnancy was a difficult journey for our sake. So even when she hit me, when she lashed out, I’d held it all in, never uttering a sound, no matter how much it hurt. All that endurance, all that silent suffering, only earned me a dismissive jab about being “tough as nails.” I could still recall the day the IVF was successful, the worry etched on my face as I gripped her hand. “You’ve suffered so much for our children, Sarah.” I would spoon-feed her, bite by painstaking bite, when morning sickness left her unable to eat. “Behave, little ones. Don’t torment your mother.” Turns out, all my worry, all my care, had been for the wrong people. I was nothing but a tool to raise these children. “I heard that during pregnancy, the desire gets even stronger, like a beast unleashed, more so than when not pregnant. Sarah, is that true?” Ryan turned to Sarah, a shy grin on his face. “It’s true. Sarah’s practically drained me dry.” “Well, that’s just because Sarah likes you, Ryan. See, even when she’s so uncomfortable, she still won’t touch Caleb, will she?” “Hahaha, exactly. You don’t know how good you have it.” I clamped my jaw, forcing down the surge of nausea. I closed my eyes, wiping away the tears that streamed down my face. Sarah Bellwether, this time, I’m the one who’s done with you. And the babies in your belly? I won’t raise them either. By the time I stepped out, Liz and the others were gone. Only Sarah and Ryan remained in the living room. I deliberately made noise, giving them time to compose themselves. It wasn’t time to confront them yet. Ryan’s face still held a faint, dazed flush, but he pretended to be professionally briefing Sarah on work matters. “Ms. Bellwether, there’s an urgent meeting tonight that requires your personal attendance. The car’s already waiting outside.” He turned to me, his expression perfectly amiable. “Mr. Thompson.” His gaze then dropped to my wife’s belly, a knowing, deeply significant smile playing on his lips. “Ms. Bellwether’s belly looks even bigger, Mr. Thompson. You’re truly blessed, for Ms. Bellwether to be carrying quadruplets.” Looking at his hypocritical face, I couldn’t muster the energy to respond. Ryan, seeing my unresponsiveness, suggested he leave. But before stepping out the door, he turned back, casting another glance at Sarah. It was a secret signal, I realized, a silent, knowing look. Sarah saw me emerge from the downstairs guest room and frowned slightly, her tone laced with a subtle probe. “When did you get back? Why didn’t you say anything?” I looked at the residual moisture on her lips, and my eyes stung with a sudden, sharp pain. It was so obvious, yet I had been blind, utterly blind, all this time. I gave a self-deprecating curl of my lips, lowering my gaze. “I was exhausted when I got back, so I just crashed in the guest room. Just woke up.” Sarah seemed to relax, her face returning to normal. “Today’s prenatal checkup went smoothly. I was supposed to take you with me, but something came up at the office.” “The doctor said all the babies are healthy.” Sarah recounted the details carefully, because in the past, I’d always wanted to know everything. 4 Fearing her suspicion, I walked over, reaching out to gently touch her belly, and spoke a few tender words to the babies inside. In the past, this would have been my happiest moment. Now, all I felt was my heart bleeding, drop by agonizing drop. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails dug into my palms, just to maintain my composure. Yet, I couldn’t control the burning sting at the corners of my eyes. Sarah didn’t notice my distress; she didn’t care enough to. “There’s an urgent meeting tonight. I might be back late.” I forced a tight smile. “Okay.” Sarah left. I slowly, carefully, climbed the stairs to the second floor. After she reached five months of pregnancy, I had moved to the guest room on the first floor, afraid of hurting the babies. I hadn’t been in our second-floor bedroom in ages. Pushing the door open, I saw the undeniable, intimate traces left on the bed. And on the wall behind it, our wedding photo still hung. The irony… a sharp, twisting pain in my chest, and tears streamed down my face. But I forced my emotions down, wiped away the tears, and pulled out all my important documents. Before heading downstairs, I found myself, by some morbid impulse, walking to the window. I looked down. The car parked at the curb hadn’t left. It was shaking rhythmically, unmistakably. I watched, a perverse form of self-torture, my stomach churning, wanting to vomit, tears running down my face. In the dead of night, Sarah returned. The scent of Ryan still clung to her. She reached out, placing my hand on her belly. I could even feel the lingering stickiness on her skin. But a moment later, she slowly began to move my hand upwards. The realization of what she intended sent a chilling wave through me, the echoes of her words echoing in my mind. A sudden, intense wave of disgust surged, and I abruptly sat up. She had just been with Ryan. His scent, his touch, was all over her. And now, she… Didn’t she find me repulsive? Didn’t she prefer to endure rather than be with me? I closed my eyes, feigning concern for her health, and Sarah withdrew her hand. I turned onto my side, my mind replaying countless memories, my chest aching. All night, I couldn’t make sense of it. But it didn’t matter anymore. First thing the next morning, I went to the hospital. When I returned home with the reports, I was utterly drained. I had made my decision. I would leave in three days. And in those three days, I would prepare everything. I would also deliver Sarah Bellwether a magnificent gift. When Sarah returned home, I was in the nursery I’d prepared on the first floor. Everything in it, I had chosen myself. Four tiny cribs, four different colored baby bottles, rows of little shoes, socks, and baby clothes… The room was decorated so warmly, every detail a testament to my effort and overflowing expectation. I had once yearned for the arrival of the babies in her belly, believing them to be the culmination of Sarah’s and my love. But now, looking at it all, I felt as though a knife were carving bloody wounds into my heart. After a long moment, I stood, letting go of these children who were never truly mine. “Caleb? Why are you crying?” Sarah entered, her brow furrowing as she saw my tear-streaked face. I wiped my face. “It’s nothing. Just… suddenly thinking about how I’ll see them in three months. I’m happy.” 5 Sarah didn’t doubt me. “I’m really looking forward to our babies being born too.” A moment later, she casually mentioned, “Liz says she’s throwing a yacht party the day after tomorrow. Do you want to go?” “How many days will you be gone?” “Three days.” I looked at her, knowing she didn’t actually want me there. Perfect. I had my own plans. I forced a smile. “I won’t go. You’re pregnant, it’ll be too much. Just take care of yourself, and have fun with them.” The next evening, Sarah and Liz, along with the others, boarded the yacht. Before she left, Sarah suddenly turned back, casting a look at me, as if sensing something. I stood rooted to the spot, my gaze calm as I watched her walk away. Many people went on the trip. I saw photos and updates shared in their group chats and on social media. That night, someone posted a video in the chat. They had started another betting pool. This time, they were betting on whose baby would be born first. “I’m betting ten million. I bet Jack’s baby comes first. He was the school heartthrob, after all.” “Then I’ll bet ten million on Mark’s.” “I’m betting fifty million. It’s my baby.” The speaker then turned to someone beside him. “Sis, I’m not letting you win this time. Your and Ryan’s baby can be younger siblings to mine.” The lighting in the video was dim, figures indistinct, but I recognized him instantly. I stared at him, a metallic taste of rust filling my mouth. Sam. Sarah Bellwether’s cousin. The fourth child was his. After we married, Sam had given me no end of trouble. We barely tolerated each other. And now, Sarah was carrying his child too? Sarah Bellwether, how could you be so utterly ruthless… In the video, Sarah let out a soft laugh. “I’m betting a hundred million. It’ll definitely be Ryan’s and my baby born first.” “I’ll put fifty million with Sarah.” “And I’ll put fifty million…” The shouts of bets rose and fell, a cacophony of voices. They all knew the truth. Only I had been kept in the dark. “I really want to see Caleb’s face when he finds out you spent nine months pregnant, carrying my and Natalie’s baby. It’ll be priceless.” Sam’s voice cut through the noisy background. Though I couldn’t see him clearly, I could almost picture his smug expression. He must have been so proud of himself. My eyes, bloodshot and burning, slowly curved into a smile. Then I’ll bet too. I bet every single one of you will lose this time. Because the babies in Sarah Bellwether’s womb were already stillborn. I picked up my phone and made a call. “Is everything ready?” A day later, the yacht docked. Sarah, Ryan, Sam, and a large group of people disembarked. Many were laughing, still basking in the glow of the spectacular yacht party. Amidst the crowd, someone casually mentioned, “I just saw on social media, someone was in a car accident today. Looked a bit like Caleb Thompson.” At that, Sarah’s brow immediately furrowed, and she shot an irritated glance at the speaker. Sam laughed. “Sis, why are you getting upset? It can’t possibly be Caleb.” Just then, a delivery driver approached. “Ms. Bellwether? This is a package for you. Signature required, please.” “Also for Mr. Smith, Mr. Jones, and a Mr. Bellwether.”

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1 When news of my ward’s death reached me, I felt no sorrow. Instead, with a speed that startled even myself, I initiated the stock reclamation and death certificate issuance processes. This swift decisiveness stemmed from a vivid memory of my past life, a life I was now reliving. In that previous existence, as the son of one of the nation’s wealthiest men, my father, concerned I might face hardship in marriage, had taken it upon himself to select three young women to be raised in our home, groomed as potential brides. From them, I chose Harper Sterling, the most captivating, to be my wife. Yet, barely three days into our marriage, she mysteriously “died.” Drowning in grief, I was easily persuaded by the other two wards to abandon all thoughts of remarriage. I spent my entire life a lonely widower. But at eighty, when I revisited Provence, our chosen spot for declaring our love, I stumbled upon Harper—the woman who had supposedly died sixty years prior! She was accompanied by Finn Miller, my driver who had disappeared years ago, surrounded by a lively brood of grandchildren, living a life of blissful contentment. The realization that I had been cruelly deceived for an entire lifetime ignited a furious rage within me. My heart gave out, and I succumbed to a cerebral hemorrhage right there. My eyes snapped open once more, and it was this very day – the day her death was announced. I wanted to see how a “nameless person,” officially declared dead, would manage to survive in this world. “Ethan, Harper’s brief life was devoted to you. Even trekking up the mountain in the rain was for your sake, for your projects. Now that she’s gone, you absolutely mustn’t remarry. How heartbroken would she be, knowing from the grave?” “Oh, and by the way, why don’t you transfer Harper’s shares to us, her sisters? We’ll work with you, meticulously guarding everything she left behind.” Hearing those sickeningly familiar voices, I bolted upright in bed. I had truly been reborn—back to the very day Harper faked her death and eloped with her lover! “Where’s Finn Miller?” I demanded, my voice icy. Olivia and Chloe Sterling froze, stunned. “Harper just passed, and you’re already indifferent? Why are you asking about a driver’s whereabouts instead?” Olivia shot back, her face contorting with indignation. “Is that how little you think of us, your own wards?” Watching their infuriated, ugly expressions, I felt no anger, only a slight curl of my lips. “Since Harper Sterling is dead, immediately reclaim all shares transferred into her name.” Then I turned to my assistant. “Come with me to the County Clerk’s office. We’re cancelling her identity and getting a death certificate issued!” My assistant quickly followed, while Olivia and Chloe remained rooted to the spot, as if struck by lightning. “Ethan, she just ‘left’! How can you be so heartless, reclaiming everything of hers? Shouldn’t it be distributed to us?!” Their eyes were bloodshot, their voices thick with naked greed. In my previous life, upon hearing Harper’s death, I had wept until I fainted, my heart set on remaining a widower for her sake. Her shares, under their subtle prompting, had indeed been transferred to Olivia and Chloe. It wasn’t until I encountered Harper and the Millers in Provence that I realized something was terribly amiss. A quick audit revealed the shocking truth: these two foster sisters, using the shares I’d transferred, had been sending Harper five million a month in living expenses, enabling her and the driver to live lavishly abroad! In my last life, I had unknowingly served as their unwitting benefactor. This time, the “death announcement” couldn’t have come at a more opportune moment! As the car pulled up to the Department of Vital Records, news came from the company: the 30% of shares under Harper Sterling’s name had been fully reclaimed, returning to my ownership. I nodded, satisfied, and handed the documents to the clerk. “These are all the identification documents for my deceased wife, Harper Sterling. Please assist with her identity cancellation.” The clerk looked at Harper’s photo, a note of regret in her voice. “So young, a graduate of a prestigious university, and a Vance family daughter-in-law. What a tragedy.” She quickly input the information and reached for the official stamp. Just then, Olivia and Chloe burst in, breathless. “Don’t stamp it!” Seeing the beads of sweat on their foreheads, a bitter pang went through me. Though I had chosen Harper as my wife, in terms of my genuine concern and past treatment, I had never once shown them any harshness—aside from the shares, they had enjoyed everything Harper possessed. Yet, from the very beginning, they had conspired to deceive me, a lie that spanned six decades! While they were wiring money to Harper, telling her to “take good care” of Finn abroad, I was continually investing in them, hoping they would live prosperous lives. While they indulged in video calls and photos to “ease their longing,” I, the son of a billionaire, was in the kitchen, apron on, personally cooking for them. While they travelled abroad for “business meetings,” I was secretly acquiring their favorite gaming company, planning a grand surprise. I had regarded them as family; they had played me for a fool, manipulating me at every turn. Now, it was time for them to face reality—without the Vance family’s prestige, they were nothing more than the orphans I had taken in from a children’s home and raised. “Olivia, Chloe. From now on, when you speak to me, remember to use respectful terms.” Olivia’s mouth fell open, her eyes blazing with indignation. “We considered you our closest family! How dare you order us around like this?!” Chloe’s brows furrowed. “Ethan, what’s wrong with you today? Has Harper’s death hit you too hard?” I scoffed, shedding the gentle demeanor I once held for them, resuming the authoritative presence of the Vance heir. “Do I need to explain my state of mind to you?” Seeing my expression, their faces were etched with disbelief. Their fingernails dug deep into their palms, but ultimately, they lowered their heads submissively. “Yes, Mr. Vance. We just heard the news of Harper Sterling’s passing and were… momentarily distraught.” I wasn’t interested in their excuses. I raised a hand, cutting them off. “Stamp it.” The moment the official seal fell, it wasn’t just proof of Harper Sterling’s “death.” It was the beginning of my complete severance from a sixty-year-long deception. 2 To pull off her elaborate charade, Harper Sterling had acquired a legitimate death certificate from a hospital. The clerk verified the details, confirming everything, and promptly stamped the document as I instructed. “Mr. Vance, my condolences. Here is your wife’s death certificate.” I murmured a perfunctory acknowledgment, tucking it casually into my bag. I’d barely taken two steps when Olivia’s phone vibrated wildly. She glanced at me uneasily before retreating to a corner to answer. Though she was some distance away, I still caught a few snippets of her frantic whispers. “How was I supposed to know that man would be so ruthless?” “Your identity’s been revoked nationwide? You’re stuck at the boarding gate, can’t leave the country?!” “Don’t panic yet, we’ll figure something out together. Just make sure to take good care of Finn. Don’t let him suffer.” Olivia and Chloe’s faces were grim. After the call, they strode towards me, hands clenched. Before they could speak, I beat them to it. “Help me issue a public announcement: that I, Ethan Vance, am a widower, and am openly seeking a new wife!” Their eyes immediately blazed red with fury. “Ethan Vance! Harper just died, and you’re already looking for a new wife?! Are you trying to kill her again?!” “You’re just from a good family! Your character is worse than even your household driver! Do you really think anyone outside of us, your own wards, would marry you?!” I suppressed the disgust churning within me, looking coldly at their raging figures. “What I say is law. Go do it. Now!” Olivia and Chloe exchanged a glance, their expressions dripping with disdain. “If you think this is some elaborate ploy to provoke us into marrying you, then I’m sorry, but in our hearts, you’re not even worth one of Finn’s pinky fingers!” “Fine, it’s just an announcement. Ethan Vance, there will come a day when you’re begging us!” My father, upon learning of this, called me home immediately. The two women tried to follow, but I stopped them with a raised hand. “Vance family matters are no concern of yours.” Stymied twice, they spun on their heels and stormed off in a huff. When Dad saw me, he let out a long sigh. “Ethan, you loved Harper so much. Are you truly set on moving forward?” Seeing me nod, he pulled an envelope from his desk drawer. “If you’re certain, I do have someone in mind.” I accepted it without even a glance. “Anyone Dad approves of must be exceptional. She’s the one.” A faint smile touched Dad’s weary face at my resolve. He said he’d ask Vivian Hayes to return to the States quickly, to be my right hand. Hearing that name, my heart began to pound uncontrollably. Dad’s preferred candidate—it was her! Dad explained that Vivian had urgent matters to attend to, and the earliest she could return was in a week. I suppressed my excitement and simply took a much-needed break at home, focusing on my well-being for the entire week. Olivia and Chloe hadn’t come looking for me; I had no idea what scheme they were cooking up, but I relished the peace. Finally, the day arrived with news of Vivian’s return. I was just about to head to the airport when, standing ramrod straight at the villa’s entrance, was my supposedly deceased wife, Harper Sterling. The luxury clothes I’d bought her had been replaced by a cheap, roadside T-shirt. From her former stunning beauty, she had become utterly unremarkable. Beside her, Finn Miller looked thoroughly aggrieved, while Olivia and Chloe hovered, endlessly comforting him. What a dramatic resurrection! It seemed they couldn’t leave the country, so they’d slunk back with their tails between their legs. I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “Harper Sterling. You’re not dead?” Before Harper could utter a word, Finn stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Mr. Vance, can’t you be less harsh? She’s your wife! Do you really want her dead?!” I raised a brow slightly, looking at the woman who, in my previous life, had lived a life of luxury abroad on the Vance family’s dime. “And who are you to snap at me?” Finn, realizing his impropriety, lowered his gaze. Harper immediately interceded, stepping back in front of him. “This is my savior! Who are you, and why are you disrespecting my benefactor?!” Olivia and Chloe, seeing their cue, began to explain, tripping over each other’s words. They claimed Harper had accidentally fallen off a cliff while scouting for me on the mountain. She was unharmed, but her head had hit a rock, causing amnesia. They insisted that Finn had coincidentally passed by and rescued Harper, and therefore, he was no longer just a Vance family driver; he was the savior of my wife, and thus, a benefactor to the entire Vance family. After listening to their convoluted tale, Finn shoved his bag into Harper’s hands, then lifted his chin at me. “I’m tired. I’ll have to trouble you, Mr. Vance, to find a temporary room for me, your savior.” Harper immediately started guiding Finn towards the house. I snapped my fingers, and the butler, without a word, closed the grand entrance gates directly in front of them. Harper spun around, glaring at me furiously. “They said you’re my husband! That means my benefactor is your benefactor! How can you be so disrespectful?!” I let out a soft, amused laugh. What a performance. If I hadn’t been reborn, I truly might have welcomed Finn as an honored guest! “Harper Sterling, you may be my wife, but in the Vance household, I am the sole master.” 3 “Get in the car and drive me to the airport. That’s an order.” Harper’s eyes nearly shot flames. Finn, sensing the tension, subtly tugged at her sleeve, shaking his head almost imperceptibly. After a tense silence, Harper bent her proud back, opening the passenger door. Finn effortlessly slid into the seat. “Apologies, Mr. Vance. Harper just recovered, and as her rescuer, I’m deeply concerned about her condition. As a gentleman of your standing, you surely wouldn’t mind, would you?” Harper didn’t even glance at me, instead leaning in to buckle Finn’s seatbelt for him. Then she pulled open the driver’s door for herself. “If you’re going, get in.” Hearing Harper’s indifferent tone towards me, a faint smirk played on Finn’s lips. I scoffed, sliding into the back seat. They were trying to assert their dominance. But what they didn’t know was that I was going to the airport to pick up my new wife. Thinking of Vivian Hayes, I let out a deep sigh. In my previous life, when I resolved to remain a widower for Harper, Vivian had also stayed unmarried, tending to me faithfully her entire life without any formal title. Now, through an unexpected twist of fate, she was the very person my father had chosen for me. A strange nervousness fluttered in my chest. Just then, the car lurched violently, and a split second later, Harper screamed, frantically wrenching the steering wheel. She deliberately angled the car, ramming the entire left side—my side, and hers—into a runaway truck. Excruciating pain ripped through me, but Harper’s first words were to ask if Finn was okay. Finn was in the passenger seat, the safest position! What could possibly happen to him? I tried to call for help, but my phone had been flung somewhere, lost in the wreckage. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I checked my injuries. My thigh was trapped in the twisted metal of the seat, and an artery had been severed. Blood and life were rapidly draining away. My vision swam with black spots from the blood loss. I pressed my hand against the wound, praying for the paramedics to arrive quickly. When the emergency responders finally rushed to the scene, Harper leaned out of the shattered window, shouting desperately. “The person in the back isn’t hurt! Don’t worry about him! Save the passenger first!” My outstretched hand, reaching for help, froze. Harper’s words felt like a knife plunging deep into my chest. She knew my life was on the line, yet she wouldn’t even bother to put on an act! In the passenger seat, Finn wailed repeatedly about how much pain he was in, demanding that the police break open his door first. Harper’s eyes welled with tears. Ignoring her own injured arm, she clung to Finn, embracing him tightly. Seeing this tableau, the police simply went around to the back, forcibly shattered the window, and carefully extracted me. As Harper frantically chastised them, their faces remained impassive. “You two are screaming and yelling, which means your lives aren’t in immediate danger. I understand you’re desperate to save your loved one, but we cannot allow a critically injured person in the back seat to bleed to death!” Even strangers could see their relationship. How much trust I must have placed in Harper in my previous life, to have never noticed a single thing amiss. I awoke again in the hospital. Olivia and Chloe were huddled near my bed, whispering conspiratorially. “The old man doesn’t know about this yet. If he finds out Harper was involved in Ethan’s car crash, we’re all done for.” “What’s the rush? Harper’s donating blood for Finn. When Ethan wakes up, we’ll make him tell the old man he was driving himself when the accident happened. Not only will we be off the hook, but we can also extort them for enough money for Finn’s overseas studies.” My entire body ached, and my heart throbbed in unison. Just then, Harper rushed into the room. “He’s not awake yet, is he? Quick, give him anesthesia now! We need to graft the skin from his face onto Finn!” Olivia and Chloe gasped, horrified. “What happened to Finn? Why does he need skin grafts?!” “He’s in the emergency room. I couldn’t see the specifics, but I heard him crying, saying his skin was ruined and needed grafts.” “Since it’s for Finn, let’s hurry. I’ve practiced Ethan’s signature. I’ll sign the consent form. And this is a sedative; you two, force him to drink it.” Listening to their chilling conversation, my heart turned to ice. I flung my eyes open, reaching for the nurse call button by my bed. Harper was faster. She lunged, pressing down on my hand, her face a mask of malevolent determination. “Ethan, Finn cares deeply about his appearance. You have to help him this time.” Olivia, seeing her chance, swiftly signed my name on the consent form. Chloe picked up a glass of milk, laced with sedatives, and without hesitation, began to force it into my mouth. “Ethan Vance, why did you have to wake up now? Wouldn’t it be easier to just be a compliant donor for Finn?!” I tried to struggle, but my body was covered in casts and bandages, making movement impossible. Their eyes were cold, devoid of empathy. They forced me to swallow the sedative, then clamped a hand over my mouth, stifling my cries, waiting for the drug to take effect. My brain grew heavy, my consciousness blurring at the edges. Just then, the hospital room door was abruptly kicked open with a resounding thud.

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1 When Mom was terminally ill, her only dying wish was to see me married. I begged my boyfriend, John, for twenty-seven days. Finally, he agreed to go to City Hall with me. But I waited there until closing time. He never showed. That same day, John’s childhood sweetheart, Tiffany, posted their marriage certificate on social media, captioning it: “Can’t believe it’s almost been a month already. Three more days to our one-month anniversary!” It hit me then. The very first day I’d asked him, he’d already married his childhood sweetheart. A text from John popped up: “Emily, Tiffany’s family is forcing her into an arranged marriage. I couldn’t just watch her go through hell. We’ll be divorced in three days. Then, I promise I’ll marry you.” Three days later, John, dressed in a sharp suit, stood at the City Hall entrance. All he received was my message: “John, goodbye forever.” In the morgue, I gazed at Mom’s peaceful face, tears streaming down. She’d raised me alone, asked for nothing, and I’d failed her most sacred, dying wish. When she was sick, I’d begged John, my boyfriend of six years, to marry me. I wanted her to know I’d be cared for. But he’d put me off for twenty-seven agonizing days: The first day, Tiffany’s car broke down and he had to pick her up. The second, he had to help Tiffany move. On the twenty-sixth, Tiffany had a stomach bug and needed looking after… If Tiffany hadn’t posted that marriage certificate, I’d still be completely in the dark. I knelt by Mom’s hospital bed until dusk. John called, his voice still infuriatingly gentle: “Where are you so late? I’ll come get you.” Usually, I’d whine and play stubborn, but now, I couldn’t utter a single word. When he heard I was at the hospital, he promised to rush over. Ten minutes later, a text popped up: “Emily, I have to deal with Tiffany’s family right now. Next time, I promise I’ll see your mom.” For the past two years, “next time, for sure” had been his go-to excuse. Missed our anniversary? Next time. Blew off seeing Mom? Next time. Put off getting married? Tomorrow, for sure. He knew I’d always forgive, always bend, and that’s why he broke me with such casual cruelty. Mom wouldn’t have a “next time,” and neither would I. 2 That night, I stayed at the hospital, watching over Mom. John sent countless messages and made countless calls. I ignored them all. First thing next morning, I arrived at the company, ready to draft my resignation. John founded this company. I’d been by his side since he had nothing, building it from the ground up. Now, my presence felt utterly meaningless. My vanishing act would barely cause a ripple in his world. As I printed the documents, John suddenly appeared behind me. I calmly picked them up, but he didn’t seem to notice my sudden distance, still speaking in that infuriatingly gentle tone: “Done printing?” He called me to his office. When he tried to embrace me, I stepped back. “Mr. Hayes, this is the office.” He frowned, then promised: “Don’t be mad. I’ll go with you to see your mom tonight.” I shook my head. “No need.” Mom was gone. More than anything, I couldn’t bear for her to know I was now labeled “the other woman” because of John. I’d always despised people who broke up families; after all, that’s exactly why my own father abandoned Mom and me. John seemed to sense something was off, quickly scrambling to explain: “Just two more days until I can divorce Tiffany. Then we’ll get married, I promise.” He handed me a gift box. “This ginseng is for your mom, to help her recover.” His “sincerity” came too late. Mom didn’t need it anymore. He was about to say more when his phone rang, interrupting him. He glanced at me, then answered the call and left. Whispers drifted from nearby desks: “Mr. Hayes is married now.” “No wonder Emily kept their relationship secret – she’s the other woman!” “She always claimed to hate homewreckers, what a hypocrite!” I stood frozen, a bone-deep chill seeping from my soles, crawling through my veins. I knew that was Tiffany calling. After all, she was John’s legal wife now. My heart remained still. Empty. Because I simply didn’t care anymore. After that, I submitted my resignation. Vice President Davies seemed oddly prepared for my sudden request. “Emily, I’m sure Mr. Hayes has everything arranged for you.” I bit my lip, the absurdity of it all hitting me. It was as if everyone had decided I was John’s ‘kept woman,’ a gilded cage canary at the company. They thought he’d prepared my gilded cage. But they couldn’t grasp that I was his rightful girlfriend, a woman now utterly broken, about to leave. Leaving the company, I ran straight into John and Tiffany at the elevator. 3 Seeing me, John’s gaze flickered, and he instinctively started to explain: “Please don’t misunderstand, I brought Tiffany here to…” Before he could finish, Tiffany slipped her arm through his: “Just showing my husband around his company,” she purred. I said nothing. Tiffany spoke again: “Emily, you don’t mind, do you?” She fixed me with a taunting stare. Silently, I stepped out of the elevator, clearing their path. John watched me, hesitation clouding his eyes, as if he wanted to say something, but Tiffany tugged him away before he could. That afternoon, at the crematory, I watched Mom’s body turn to ash. I laid her to rest in the cemetery. Night fell. John never showed. Not a word, not a text. I didn’t care. Without his presence, Mom’s passage felt more peaceful. I knew her spirit, wherever it was, wouldn’t want me to be entangled with him anymore. She wouldn’t want to see me marry him. Our six years together, they had to end. Here. Now. Leaving the cemetery, I walked all the way home. It had been a long time since I’d walked alone at night. First, I held Mom’s hand. Then, I leaned on John’s arm. From now on, I’d walk by myself. I knew I’d get used to it. It was past midnight when I finally got home. The living room light was on. John was sprawled on the couch, texting. The moment I walked in, the anxious frown on his face softened, and he rushed toward me, reaching for my hand: “Where have you been? You didn’t answer your phone, didn’t reply to my texts. Do you know I was about to call the police?!” I flinched, pulling my hand from his grasp. “I was with my mom,” I said, my voice flat. “I didn’t want her disturbed.” At the mention of Mom, John’s face contorted with guilt, remembering his empty promises from earlier. Suddenly, he looked at me with an almost desperate hope, pulling a small box from his pocket and solemnly presenting it. I took it, opening it instinctively. Inside, a diamond ring shimmered. My breath hitched. He’d once held my hand, swearing he’d put a ring on my finger, hand me a marriage certificate, and let Mom witness my happiness. I’d waited countless days, hoped countless times. But that was before. I closed the box and handed it back. John’s brow furrowed slightly, as if something clicked, and he said, a touch awkwardly: “It’s past midnight now. Just one more day, and I can divorce Tiffany.” “Don’t worry,” he added, “I’ve always remembered my promise. Tomorrow, I’ll put this ring on your finger myself, and then we’ll go get married.” His empty words of devotion didn’t touch me. I simply stated, detachedly, “Alright, I get it. I’m tired. I’m going to rest.” John’s smile froze. For the first time, he seemed to sense my indifference. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, and he reached for my hand. Just then, Tiffany emerged from the bedroom, wearing my pajama set. Her eyes were still heavy with sleep, but she glanced at me, then immediately linked her arm through John’s, whining: “John, Emily’s back already. Let’s just get ready for bed.” John quickly looked at me, scrambling to explain: “Tiffany had a fight with her family. I just let her stay in the guest room for the night.” 4 He stared at me intently, as if afraid I’d misunderstand. I nodded, indifferent. “It’s fine,” I said. “I can stay at Mom’s place for the night.” John froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily. But Tiffany wasn’t about to let me backtrack. She turned, a triumphant smirk on her face, and darted back into the bedroom. When I pulled my suitcase toward the door, John was still standing in the living room, frozen. His lips were pressed thin, his grip on my hand tight, unwilling to let go. The guilt in his eyes deepened, growing heavier. Finally, urged by Tiffany’s impatient calls from the bedroom, he spoke: “Tomorrow, after we get married, we’ll go see your mom together.” Dawn broke. I finished packing and headed back to the company for final handover. The moment I stepped inside, colleagues watched me with strange, knowing looks. As I walked past, hushed whispers and pointed fingers followed me. It wasn’t until I saw Tiffany sitting at my desk that I understood the bizarre atmosphere. Everyone was staring at their computer screens, yet their eyes kept darting toward the unfolding drama. Seeing me, Tiffany looked up, a smug, arrogant gleam in her eyes. “I’m starting today,” she announced. “I’ll be sitting here. You can find somewhere else.” I looked at her, then nodded calmly. “Alright,” I said. “I’ll just clear out my things.” The company colleagues, witnessing my composure, mistook it for cowardice in the face of the ‘rightful wife.’ With Tiffany and me standing there, no one dared speak aloud. Instead, they typed furiously on their keyboards, their disdain for me palpable even in silence. I wanted to set the record straight, to explain everything, but the words wouldn’t come. After all, Tiffany was John’s legal wife. Any more explanations would only humiliate me further. As I finished packing and prepared to leave, John walked over. Seeing me with my box, his face tightened. “Where are you going?” “I—” Before I could answer, Tiffany cut in, “She’s making space for me. I like this spot.” Seeing me about to leave, John quickly grabbed my arm. “No, this desk is yours. No one can—” I cut him off before he could finish. “If she likes it, she can have it.” After all, I’d resigned. Who sat where was none of my business. John, however, stood frozen, his expression unreadable. Only after my back, carrying the box, disappeared from view did he snap back to reality. John shoved Tiffany aside, who had been humming as she cleared her desk. Then, in front of everyone, he slapped her hard across the face. “Did our sham marriage give you the wrong idea, make you think you could walk all over me?!” “Did you forget?” he snarled, “I warned you not to mess with Emily!” After I left the company, my phone buzzed with texts from John. “I’ll be waiting for you at City Hall tomorrow.” “I’ve arranged for specialists to see your mom tomorrow.” “After we get married, we’ll go see your mom together.” I smiled, a sudden, bitter taste in my mouth. John, goodbye. I gathered my luggage and headed for the airport. The next day, John stood at the City Hall entrance, clutching his freshly signed divorce papers.

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My roommate was a sleepwalker. In the dead of night, she’d climb onto beds and slap people awake, or leave strange messes in our slippers. Once, I woke to find her brandishing a carving knife, hacking a watermelon to shreds, splattering crimson juice across the floor. She’d explained she’d dreamt of cutting a melon, only to find it wasn’t ripe. We kept our distance, gave her a wide berth. But the next night, I jolted awake from a dream. My sleepwalking roommate was standing over me, one hand clutching the knife, the other stroking my head. “This one’s finally ripe, huh?” 1 A tremor ripped through me. I screamed. “Ahhhhh!” My shriek instantly woke the other two in the dorm. Lily’s small desk lamp, on the top bunk, flickered to life, illuminating the nightmare before my eyes. Stella stood there, eyes wide but vacant, one hand still patting my head, the butchering knife in her other hand poised to strike. “Holy crap!” Ryder, from the bottom bunk, sprang into action. She was an athlete, all speed and raw power. She lunged, tackling Stella from behind, pinning her arms back. I snapped out of my terrified trance, grabbed the half-empty water bottle from my desk, and splashed its contents onto Stella’s face. She gasped, a shudder running through her. Her unfocused gaze finally sharpened. When she saw the knife in her hand, she startled, dropping it with a loud clatter to the floor. “What… what just happened?!” My face was ashen. “I was about to ask you! Do you even know what you were doing?!” Stella’s face was ghostly white. She stammered, “I… I just had a dream. I was back in the watermelon patch, trying to find a good one. And this time, I finally felt a ripe one, and I just wanted to cut it open…” All our faces went instantly bloodless. Stella’s sleepwalking had been an issue for a while. When we first discovered it at the start of freshman year, we were all a little scared. But then we realized she mostly just stood by the window, staring blankly, and since she was so friendly during the day, we gradually let our guard down. As we got closer, we’d even joke about her sleepwalking, asking her what bizarre dreams she’d had. Lately, she’d kept talking about dreams of her grandpa’s watermelon patch back on the farm. She wanted a big, sweet melon, she’d say, but they were always unripe. We’d all laughed then. But now, the laughter died in our throats. Stella’s hand stroking my head—she’d clearly treated my head as a perfectly ripe melon in her dream! My gaze dropped to the large butchering knife on the floor—the one Ryder usually used for chopping fruit. It was big. It was sharp. If I hadn’t woken in time, my head might have been split open like that watermelon. A cold sweat slicked my skin. I stood up abruptly. “I’m calling the RA. I’m switching dorms!” 2 The RA, roused in the middle of the night, was initially annoyed, but our story made her skin crawl. “Stella,” she said, her voice strained, “I’ll contact your academic advisor and your parents to see if we can get you some medical help. Until then, you’ll stay in the vacant dorm room upstairs!” Stella herself was terrified. Her eyes red-rimmed, she went to pack her things. She moved quickly and even posted a photo of her new dorm in our group chat—the picture showed the door barricaded with clutter, and she’d captioned it: [I’ve locked the door and blocked it with a bunch of stuff. I even threw out all sharp objects. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt anyone.] Seeing the message, a knot of unease formed in our stomachs. Lily couldn’t help but say, “Are we being too harsh?” Ryder immediately shot back, “Harsh? When she nearly sliced your head open, would you still think it’s harsh?!” Ryder’s name carried a hint of wildness, and her temper matched. Her words instantly extinguished any guilt I’d felt. The four of us were in different majors anyway, so after Stella moved out, we lost touch. We didn’t see her for days. Until three mornings later, just before dawn, a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the dorm building. We all shot awake. “What in God’s name is that?! So early!” Ryder grumbled, climbing out of bed, still half-asleep and irritable. Lily rubbed her eyes, fumbling for her phone. “It’s not even six yet, what the… Oh my God, no!” Her sudden scream startled me. “What is it?!” Lily almost collapsed as she scrambled down from her top bunk. “I… I saw someone in the Business School group chat say… someone died in our dorm building!” “What?!” Ryder and I’s faces drained of color. Ryder pressed, “Which room? How did they die?” Lily shivered, glancing at her phone, her face even whiter. “It’s on the floor right above us.” She looked up, her voice trembling. “Their head was split clean open. They said… it looked like a melon.” 3 The entire dorm plunged into a chilling silence. We all, without exception, thought of Stella. After a long moment, I whispered, my voice shaking… “It… it couldn’t be Stella, could it? She said she locked her door and blocked everything.” Ryder’s voice was cold. “But I’ve seen in movies that sleepwalkers can open doors, even ride bikes!” Silence descended again. Finally, Lily, her face pale, spoke up. “Alright, let’s not scare ourselves. It’s the police’s job to find the killer. Let’s not overthink it.” Ryder and I nodded silently. We got up to get ready, dropping the subject. All day, the entire campus buzzed with talk of the murder in our dorm building. The victim was a freshman girl from the English Lit Department. They said her head was split in half, and her roommates, waking up to the sight, had gone completely insane. Dozens of police cars were parked outside the girls’ dorm, and the victim’s room was sealed off. The rumors grew wilder and wilder—from a clean split to talk of a missing brain. Panic rippled through the student body. That evening, Ryder, Lily, and I were eating dinner in the dining hall when— Clunk. A tray was set down on our table. I looked up to see Stella’s bright, beaming smile. “Lily, Ryder, Chloe! Long time no see!” The three of us froze. Stella, however, seemed oblivious to our stunned reactions. She dug into her food, chattering away. “It’s such a hassle being in the Languages Department, so far from you guys. I haven’t seen you since I moved out. How have you all been?” Stella spoke with effervescent cheer, but none of us responded. Finally, I couldn’t help but cut her off. “Stella, have you had any dreams about cutting watermelons these past few days?” Stella paused, puzzled. “No, why? I’ve been dreaming about eating long strands of pasta. Why do you ask?” I was at a loss for how to answer. Just then, a conversation from the next table drifted over to us: “Hey, have you guys heard about the murder in the girls’ dorm? They say the killer had incredible strength, managed to slice the girl’s head so cleanly! Like cutting a watermelon!” Stella overheard their conversation. It clicked. Her face went white as she looked at us. “You… you think I killed that English Lit girl?” None of us spoke, but Stella began to cry. “Is that what you really think of me? I told you! My dorm has no sharp objects, I lock the door every night, and I check it in the morning. Don’t you believe me?!” Lily, unable to bear it, said, “Stella, that’s not what we meant…” But Stella didn’t want to hear it. She got up and ran off, crying. Our appetites vanished. As soon as we got back to our dorm, a girl from the room next door approached us, whispering mysteriously. “Did you hear? There’s a new development in the upstairs murder case! The police checked all the surveillance footage in our dorm hallway, but they didn’t see anyone entering or leaving the victim’s room. So now, the victim’s three roommates are the prime suspects. They’ve already been taken to the police station for questioning!” The three of us froze. If no one entered or left, the killer must be one of the victim’s roommates. This meant it likely had nothing to do with Stella. Lily’s face was filled with remorse. “Should we apologize to Stella? I mean, being wrongly accused of murder… I’d be furious too.” “Apologize for what?” Ryder retorted gruffly. “We never said it was her. We just asked about her dreams. She’s too sensitive. Apologizing would just make it more awkward.” Ryder wasn’t wrong. So, we dropped the subject, washed up, and got into bed. I drifted into a hazy sleep for what felt like ages. Then, suddenly— Thump-thump-thump. I was jolted awake by a knocking sound. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. 2 AM. A cold sweat broke out. Who would be knocking on our dorm door in the middle of the night? At the same instant, Lily’s nightlight on the top bunk flickered on. I saw Ryder on the opposite bunk also sit up. Lily’s trembling voice cut through the dimness. “Who… who is it…?” The next second, a familiar voice drifted from outside the door— “It’s me. Stella.” In the dim light, I saw Ryder’s face drain of color. I knew we all had the same thought— Was Stella sleepwalking, or was she awake? I instinctively pulled my blanket tighter, the words spilling out. “What do you want?” A brief silence from outside the door. Then, I heard a soft chuckle. “I just cut a perfectly ripe, huge watermelon. Do you guys want a slice?” 4 Silence. A suffocating silence descended on the entire dorm. In the dimness, I watched the last bit of color drain from Ryder’s face. Lily practically tumbled from her top bunk, scrambling into my arms, trembling uncontrollably. I forced myself to cling to the last threads of my sanity, to stay calm. “Don’t… don’t be scared. The police already found out, right? The murder has nothing to do with Stella. She’s probably just sleepwalking…” I wasn’t sure if I was comforting Lily or myself. “And our door is locked…” But no sooner had I spoken than Lily suddenly convulsed in my arms. I looked down at her. “What’s wrong?” Lily’s face was utterly bloodless, her voice choked with tears. “I… I just remembered. I was the last one to bed tonight. I forgot to lock the door…” My hands and feet instantly went icy cold. At the same moment, I heard Stella’s cheerful voice from outside. “Oh, you guys didn’t lock the door. I’m coming in, then!” Click. The door slowly, deliberately, swung open from the outside. 5 “Ahhhhhh!” Lily couldn’t take it. She threw herself into my arms. Ryder lunged, intending to tackle Stella, but in the next second, she froze. By then, in the dim glow of the nightlight, I saw Stella clearly as she stepped through the door. She was holding a half-cut watermelon, her eyes bright and clear, smiling at us. My taut nerves instantly slackened. Ryder reacted, smacking Stella hard. “Stella! You’re messing with us!” “Ow!” Stella rubbed her arm, wincing, but still smiling. “Well, you guys misunderstood me earlier today, so I had to scare you as punishment! Besides, I wasn’t lying. I really did bring watermelon for you to eat.” The tension in the room dissipated. Lily, now calm, walked over and took Stella’s hand. “Stella, I’m so sorry about earlier. We really didn’t mean to misunderstand you, it’s just…” “I know.” Stella smiled, cutting her off. “When I’m sleepwalking, I can’t control myself, so you worry I might do something awful.” “But don’t worry, I’ve taken so many precautions. My parents said they’d take me to see a doctor next week. I won’t hurt anyone. Alright, let’s not talk about that anymore, let’s eat this watermelon!” Stella put the melon down, a look of exasperation on her face. “You have no idea how much trouble this melon was. I didn’t dare keep a knife in my room, so I had to smash it open with my bare hands. It splattered all over me!” We finally looked down at the watermelon. It was indeed unevenly split, and Stella was covered in watermelon juice.

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My boyfriend’s third bankruptcy hit without warning. Loan sharks, demanding ten million dollars, blockaded our doorstep. Trapped by hulking figures in the entryway, I inadvertently glimpsed his tablet. A group chat log was open: “Think she can actually pay back ten mil?” “If not, she can sell herself. Women make money fast.” “Still, Caleb’s the real champ. Got Miss Kingsley on one arm, the flower girl wrapped around his little finger with the other.” Tears welled, blurring my vision. I remembered selling Grandma’s old house for him, emptying Mom’s savings—her dowry—for him. My hand trembled as I set the tablet down. I dialed my billionaire father: “You just want me to inherit the family business and marry your protégé, right? Fine. I’ll do it. Send someone to pick me up in three days.” I hung up. Caleb Hawk pushed the door open, a signed promissory note dangling in his hand. “Ellie, I’m so sorry. I owe another ten million…” The “confusion” in his eyes, which once twisted my gut with sympathy, now struck me as a cruel joke. I stared at the watch on his wrist—a Patek Philippe, listed at $160 million in a magazine. He wore a $160 million watch, feigning poverty over a ten-million-dollar debt, while I, penniless, had contemplated seeking out loan sharks for him. He noticed my gaze, quickly tucking the watch into his sleeve. “It’s just a fake. When I have money…” Before he could finish, another message popped up on the tablet: “Caleb, what’s she selling this time? Her house or her body?” “If it’s her body, I’ll book the first night!” Obscenities flooded the screen. In our three years together, I’d bailed him out twice: The first time, I sold Grandma’s house; he promised to give me a proper home. The second time, I emptied my dowry; he knelt, swearing he’d marry me. Only now did I realize those “promises” were nothing but elaborate deceptions. Caleb glanced at the messages, frowning as he typed a reply in the group chat: “Buzz off, all of you! Just wait for the show!” Then he clung to me, pulling me into a hug. “Ellie, this is the last time. Once it’s paid off, I’ll marry you.” The “sincerity” on his face made me laugh—what made me so special, that a rich playboy would go to such lengths to deceive me, even using marriage as a bargaining chip? I pushed him away. “Caleb, I’m out of money.” He froze, then his eyes widened in anger. “So you think I’m a loser too? I knew I misjudged you!” He slammed the door and left. This was his go-to tactic, his weapon to break my will. But I simply blocked all his contacts. I picked up the promissory note—no fingerprints, a clumsy forgery. I’d fallen for such an obvious fake twice. I called the real estate agent. “The flower shop on Main Street. Please help me sublease it.” That shop, I’d opened it to support him. Now, I was leaving it behind. Packing my bags, I surveyed the “surprises” in our rented apartment—greeting cards thrown out by bakeries, pebbles picked from the street, paper rings he’d folded. Every time he’d given them to me, he’d feigned surprise, as if they were precious finds. Only now did I understand: these were mere props, casually acquired, their contents likely forgotten by him even as he presented them. Sunlight streamed through the window onto the empty floor. I took one last look at this “home” filled with lies, then pulled my suitcase toward the door. Three days later, my father’s car pulled up exactly on time. My phone buzzed frantically with Caleb Hawk’s texts: “Ellie, where are you? I got the money, let’s start over…” I deleted the messages and stepped into the luxury car. In the rearview mirror, the dismal rental apartment shrunk, just like three years of my devoted heart, finally crumbling to dust under the harsh, unyielding sunlight. And in the distance, around the street corner, Caleb Hawk had Brooke Kingsley’s arm draped around his waist, pointing at my car and laughing to someone. “See that? That’s the flower girl I got bored of playing with.” A bitter smile touched my lips. “Drive,” I told the driver. From that moment on, Caleb Hawk’s schemes would no longer involve Eleanor Hawk. His only decent gift was a necklace he bought from a street vendor for eighty dollars when his first startup succeeded. I’d been furious, thinking he was wasting money. But Caleb had just watched me, amused. He’d called me silly, asking what would happen if he really became rich someday and I still couldn’t bear to spend money. I’d thought then he was being considerate. Now, it was clear he truly thought I was a fool. Scrolling through the dense, sprawling chat logs, there were exactly 517 instances of Caleb calling me silly. When I’d run through three streets to buy him his favorite late-night snack, he’d called me “Ellie, so silly.” When he’d had a fever, I’d draped my only raincoat over him, carrying him on my back to the clinic, and he’d remarked, “She’s ridiculously stupid.” Even when I lay in his arms, dreaming of a brighter future with him, he’d post in the group chat: “Ellie’s hopelessly stupid, dreaming of a future with me when she’s this poor…” Even in cold text, I could imagine the disdain and mockery with which he’d typed those words. But it didn’t matter anymore. In my future, Eleanor Hawk’s future, Caleb Hawk would no longer exist. I continued to pack, but in the end, my large suitcase remained mostly empty. The trash can, however, overflowed. I surveyed this home, where I’d lived for two years, one last time. Peeling paint stained with watermarks, a chair with a broken leg, a bed cobbled together from bricks and planks… During better times, I’d thought about decorating this place, making it feel like a home. But Caleb had always refused. He’d say we wouldn’t live here once he had money, so decorating was pointless. I’d believed every one of his promises, then clung to this dilapidated apartment, foolishly waiting for those promises to materialize. Thinking about it all, I suddenly felt a profound sense of pointlessness. I closed my suitcase. The real estate agent called. “Miss Hawk, I can’t finalize the sublease for the flower shop without your personal discussion with the landlord.” At 3 PM sharp, I arrived at the designated office building to meet the agent. In the lavish corridor, through a slightly ajar door, I saw Caleb Hawk. He was in a well-fitted suit, head bowed, fiddling with his phone. Beside him, a meticulously dressed woman leaned intimately against his shoulder. The moment I saw her, I recognized her. Two days prior, the flower shop received an order for nine hundred ninety-nine roses. Because the customer specifically requested the thorns not be removed, I’d spent hours, my hands bleeding, wrapping them all. When I personally delivered them by taxi, the recipient was this very woman, Brooke Kingsley. Tucked into the center of the roses was a small card, as requested by the customer: “To my lifelong love, Brooke. Signed: CH.” Only at this moment did it click: CH stood for Caleb Hawk. He had known, with chilling clarity, that I would never turn down such a large order, desperate as I was for money. So he had deliberately made those demands, watching me spin around, a puppet on his strings. The thought made me laugh, tears welling in my eyes. After I’d gone home that day, I’d even excitedly shared with Caleb that I’d made good money. When he’d tenderly bandaged my wounds, was he, even then, silently sneering, calling me a fool, reducing my pain to a punchline? Wiping away the tears from my eyes, the agent arrived. He saw me standing by the door and asked, puzzled, “Miss Hawk, the landlord is inside. Why don’t you go in?” My eyes, still tear-rimmed, stared at the agent in shock. “You said who? The landlord? Caleb Hawk?” The agent, oblivious, replied, “Yes. You didn’t know? That entire block on Main Street, it’s all Mr. Hawk’s territory.” I looked at Caleb Hawk’s figure in the distance. Painful memories, long dormant, surged forth like a bitter tide, threatening to drown me. After I’d helped Caleb pay off his debt the second time, I spent a long period struggling to make ends meet, unable to even pay rent. Four or five burly men had crowded the flower shop entrance, demanding rent. They’d smashed all the flowers in the shop, and even stomped on my cat, Snowball, letting him shriek in pain without releasing their feet. Snowball had been with me for twelve years; he wasn’t just a pet, but as vital to me as Caleb himself, a member of my family. I’d cried, my voice choked with tears, kneeling on the floor, begging them to spare him. In the three years I’d owned the shop, there had been countless times I’d been harassed for rent or protection money. But I’d never mentioned it to Caleb; I didn’t want to burden him. But this time, I was truly terrified. I’d called him, crying so hard I could barely breathe. I’d asked him, “Caleb, what do I do? Save Snowball, save him…” Caleb had known how important Snowball was to me, yet he’d remained silent for a long time before saying he was sorry. I’d watched, powerless, as those men trampled my cat to death. I’d held him, feeling him grow cold, then stiff, in my arms. Just as helpless as I had been when Mom’s life slipped away in my arms years ago. Yet, even after that, I hadn’t hated Caleb. I’d only regretted my own helplessness. But now, the truth was laid bare before me: the landlord who forced me to pay rent was Caleb Hawk. The one who could have saved Snowball with a single word was also Caleb Hawk. But he hadn’t saved him. And Snowball had died. I almost bit through my tongue to keep the sob from escaping my lips. I ran out of the office building, hailed a taxi, and told the driver to go to the airport. In the car, my hand trembling, I called my father. Twenty-seven years old, and the only person I could rely on now was the father I’d always tried to deny. “Dad, can you come pick me up now? Please…” … Meanwhile, Caleb Hawk, Brooke Kingsley, and his group of friends emerged from the office. Caleb’s head was bowed, his eyes fixed on the message thread with me on his screen. For two full days, I hadn’t sent him a single message. He was agitated, pulling out a cigarette, then putting it back when he remembered I didn’t like the smell of smoke on him. His buddy, standing behind him, clapped a hand on his shoulder, a hint of schadenfreude in his voice as he looked at the dark screen. “What’s up, Caleb? Is the little girl out of money this time? Not playing with you anymore?” A flash of frustrated anger crossed Caleb’s eyes. He shoved his friend’s arm away. “Who said that? Ellie loves me so much. She’s probably scrambling somewhere to get me the money right now!” “You just wait. After I give her a few days of cold shoulder, she’ll hand over the cash!” No sooner had he spoken than the real estate agent, who’d overheard my name, approached. “Ellie? Mr. Hawk, you know Miss Hawk? Perfect! She wants to sublease her flower shop. I was worried you might not approve!” Caleb frowned. He had a vague feeling that the anxiety building in his heart over the past few days was about to find its answer. He forced himself to remain composed, feigning nonchalance. “The flower shop is doing fine. Why would she sublease it?” The agent gave him a placating smile, completely unaware of the significance of his words. “Miss Hawk said she’s tired of running the shop and wants to go home to get married.” Caleb’s phone clattered to the floor. He lunged, grabbing the agent’s collar, his expression savage. “What did you say? Married? Who’s getting married?!” The agent, startled by his sudden aggression, stammered. “Mr. Hawk, it’s Eleanor, Miss Hawk, who’s getting married. Don’t, don’t you know her?” “IMPOSSIBLE!” Caleb roared. His eyes were bloodshot, his chest heaving violently. The agent was almost collapsing in fear, but Caleb held him tight by the collar. Finally, Caleb’s friends rushed over, talking him down, persuading him to let go. The agent, gasping for breath, quickly dropped the lease transfer agreement and fled. Caleb stood there, clutching the flimsy paper in his hand, feeling as if his very breath had become heavy. “Caleb, Ellie must be playing hard to get. She loves you so much, how could she marry someone else?” “Yeah, Caleb. Maybe she’s subleasing the flower shop just to pay off your debts!”

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As the sole daughter of the Vance family, my billion-dollar inheritance was shadowed by the agonizing memory of three childhood kidnappings. My father had surrounded me with a hundred bodyguards; even my school commute required three armored vehicles. “Choose a husband,” he’d urged, “one who will protect you day and night.” I chose Lucian Thorne, the one who seemed gentlest to me. Yet, on our wedding day, he dismissed all my bodyguards. I found myself tied to a rooftop, a kidnapper’s blade at my throat. On the other end of the phone, Lucian’s voice was a cold sneer: “Elara Vance, is this really necessary? You had thugs harass Seraphina Thorne. She’s the victim here. Who exactly is this little performance for?” “All I did was assign your bodyguards to protect her 24/7, so you could finally get a taste of living in fear.” I counted the chimes of the city clock from the rooftop. Each hour that passed, I lost another finger. Twenty-four hours later, my blood ran dry, and my heart died with it. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day I had to choose a husband—my father’s hand still held those eight photographs. This time, my finger swept past Lucian Thorne’s image and landed squarely on the roguish, devil-may-care smile in the far corner. But my father said, “That man is dead.” 1 I stared at the eight photographs in my father’s hand, my finger sweeping past Lucian Thorne’s gentle, almost ethereal face without a tremor, moving directly to the bottom corner, to that dark-skinned, rogue’s smile. My father frowned. “Elara, I thought you liked Lucian Thorne best? Why choose Ryder Blackwood?” I clenched my fingers so tightly my nails dug into my palms. Ryder Blackwood. A top athlete from childhood, but infamous in the D.C. elite scene as a notorious playboy. His skin was perpetually tanned, and he spent his days at racetracks and nightclubs, his female companions rotating more frequently than his designer clothes. My father despised him, having exiled him to a remote, far-flung project in Willow Creek just to get rid of him. But I remembered. In my past life, tied to that rooftop, bleeding out drop by agonizing drop, the last image I saw before plunging was Ryder Blackwood, rushing toward me like a madman—his face contorted with terror and raw anguish. “I’ll choose him,” I whispered, my voice trembling. My father frowned, pulling out his phone to scroll through his contacts, but he paused, awkwardly—he didn’t even have Ryder Blackwood’s number saved. How ironic. These eight men were all his adopted “sons,” yet Ryder Blackwood didn’t even merit a contact entry. His chief assistant quickly called back. “Mr. Vance, Ryder Blackwood met with an accident last month in Willow Creek. A mudslide.” My father sighed. “Elara, choose someone else. Lucian Thorne is actually…” “No. I’m not choosing anyone else.” I stood up abruptly, my throat tight. “Besides him, I want no one.” In my past life, those so-called “brothers” either fawned over Lucian Thorne’s cousin or coldly laughed at my misfortune. Reborn, I’d rather be alone forever than be stabbed by that false tenderness again. I walked out of the office in a daze, Ryder Blackwood’s final expression burned into my mind. If even he was dead, who else in this world would fight for me to the death? Suddenly, a cold hand clamped onto my wrist. I looked up. It was Lucian Thorne. Seraphina Thorne was leaning against him, her slender body subtly trembling, her eyes red-rimmed, as if she’d endured the greatest injustice. Lucian Thorne’s expression was gentle, but his tone was stiff. “Elara, Seraphina isn’t well. Your hot springs resort is empty anyway; let her go there to recuperate for a few days. She’s been having trouble sleeping and coughing a lot lately.” In my past life, I would have softened and agreed instantly. But now, I simply gave them a cold look. “I don’t agree.” With that, I directly called my assistant. “Lock the resort gates. Don’t let any riff-raff slip in.” Lucian Thorne’s face changed instantly. “Elara!” He gripped my wrist roughly, his hold painfully tight. “She’s my cousin. She’ll be family someday. Can’t you be reasonable?” I scoffed, sharply yanking my hand free. “Who among you is family to me?” His pupils constricted, as if stung. “What’s gotten into you? Just because Seraphina wore your hair clip last time? You have rooms full of jewelry. What’s wrong with letting her borrow one?” Seraphina chose that moment to sob, tears clinging to her lashes. “Lucian, it’s alright… Miss Vance looks down on me. I’m not worthy anyway…” I couldn’t be bothered to watch their charade any longer. I turned and walked away. “I said no, and that’s final.” Back in my room, I pulled the covers over my head and tried to sleep. The dizzying sensation of rebirth still churned, until a jarring phone ring jolted me awake. “Miss Vance!” My assistant’s voice was tearful. “Mr. Thorne brought Miss Thorne into the resort! I couldn’t stop them. The bodyguards all listened to him!” I shot upright. Images of my past kidnapping flashed before my eyes—the very bodyguards who were supposed to protect me had just as readily followed Lucian Thorne, abandoning me to my captors. Rushing into the resort, one bodyguard dared to block my path. “Miss Vance, Mr. Thorne instructed that no one is to disturb them.” SLAP! I lashed out, my palm connecting sharply with his face, my body trembling with rage. “You eat my food, but you listen to others? Get out of my sight, now!” The moment I pushed open the inner chamber door, the sight before me made my blood run cold. 2 In the steamy mist of the hot springs, Seraphina Thorne leaned languidly against the pool’s edge, her cheeks flushed with an unnatural blush. “Lucian, I’m so dizzy…” Before she finished, her body went limp, and she started to slide into the water. Lucian Thorne jumped into the pool without hesitation, pulling her into his arms. Water droplets ran down his taut jawline, landing on Seraphina’s bare shoulder. “Lucian Thorne,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through the air. “I told you, you’re not welcome here.” His body stiffened. Seraphina’s eyelashes fluttered in his arms. “Elara!” A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, quickly turning to anger. “Do you have to be so aggressive? She almost fainted! Can’t you be less cruel?!” Seraphina suddenly broke free from his embrace, falling to her knees with a splash before me, her forehead hitting the ground hard. “Miss Vance, I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault!” Blood trickled down her pale cheek. Suddenly, she lunged, grabbing my leg, but the next second, as if shoved, she toppled back into the pool. She struggled in the water, crying out in pain, “Help! I’m cramping!” Lucian Thorne jumped in again to scoop her up. When he emerged, he looked at me with pure disgust. “Elara Vance, you are truly despicable!” He violently shoved me into the pool. BANG! My arm slammed against the pool wall, immediately bruising. “If you ever bully Seraphina like this again,” he said, cradling the trembling Seraphina, his voice icy, “I won’t marry you.” Watching their retreating backs, I climbed out of the pool, feeling humiliated. “Every single person who let them in today—you’re all fired!” As I was changing, my assistant rushed in. “Miss Vance! We found a lead on Ryder Blackwood!” I rushed to Willow Creek that night. The mountain roads, ravaged by heavy rain, were muddy and treacherous. Just as I settled into a small inn, a pair of large hands suddenly grabbed me. The person violently yanked me into a dark alley, a warm hand clamping tightly over my mouth. I looked up in terror, meeting a pair of eyes as bright as stars. “Ryder Blackwood?!” He quickly released me, his masked face flushed red. “Miss Vance, what are you doing in a place like this…?” “You’re not dead?” My voice trembled. He scratched his head sheepishly, revealing a charming little canine tooth. “There was an insider leak on the project here. I used the mudslide as an excuse to fake my death and expose the traitor.” “You can do that?” I asked, surprised. His smile suddenly dimmed. “Did I disappoint you? Do you… always think I’m stupid?” My heart gave a sudden, sharp pang. I grabbed his hand, desperate. “Listen! You have to be back before the 8th, for the wedding!” His body stiffened, his eyes instantly dimming. “Okay. I’ll definitely be there for your wedding.” “You idiot,” I stomped my foot in frustration. “I mean, I’m marrying you…” “Boss! The insider’s getting away!” a shout echoed from the distance. He frantically backed away two steps. “Miss Vance, there might be danger here. You should go back quickly! I’ll be at the wedding!” Ryder Blackwood’s hasty retreating figure quickly vanished into the alley. I stood there, a whirlwind of thoughts in my mind. In my past life, he was the least noticed among the eight. Everyone said he was all brawn and no brains, only fit for nightclubs and outdoor activities. Not like Lucian Thorne, always impeccably suited, glasses glinting as he plotted his strategies. Yet, the most peripheral tasks, the trickiest connections, were always handed to Ryder Blackwood to handle. But now, I realized these so-called “peripheral tasks” involved dealing with the most difficult and shady characters. Without incredible finesse and street smarts, how could he have handled them so flawlessly? On the return journey, I had my assistant create a new digital wedding invitation and send it to Ryder Blackwood. It wasn’t until the middle of the night that my phone finally chimed with a notification. “Miss Vance, the groom’s name is incorrect. Remember to change it.” The “typing…” bubble above the chat flickered for a long time before another message appeared. “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be at the wedding.” I couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Nothing I said now would convince him. I’d just have to explain in person when he returned. My phone vibrated relentlessly. Lucian Thorne sent message after message: “Seraphina needs your apology.” “Don’t be so childish.” I opened the screen and, without hesitation, deleted his contact. 3 Knowing Ryder Blackwood was alive, and far more capable than I’d imagined, my mood was brighter than ever before. I began preparing for the wedding. That day, I pushed open the glass door of the bridal shop, immediately assailed by a cloying scent of cheap perfume. “Lucian~ Does this look good on me?” Seraphina Thorne’s sickly sweet voice instantly raised goosebumps on my arms. She was brazenly wearing the wedding gown my mother had custom-ordered for me, admiring herself repeatedly in the mirror. Lucian Thorne watched her tenderly. “Seraphina, you look beautiful in anything.” “Oh, stop it~ You’re such a charmer, Lucian~” Seraphina purred, twirling, the cheap perfume scent permeating the air. I suppressed my anger and walked toward them. The moment Lucian Thorne saw me, his face visibly stiffened. He instinctively stepped forward, blocking Seraphina, his voice deliberately gentle. “Elara, don’t misunderstand. Seraphina isn’t well, and she might… she might not make it to her own wedding day. She just wanted to experience wearing a wedding dress.” Seraphina began to cough delicately. “Take it off,” I interrupted, my voice icy. Seraphina’s eyes immediately welled up. “Miss Vance, I’m so sorry, I just envied you too much.” She trembled, grabbing Lucian Thorne’s sleeve. “It’s all my fault, don’t blame Lucian…” Lucian Thorne’s face hardened. “You’ll be marrying me sooner or later anyway. What does it matter if she tries it on? Can’t you just let her be happy?” “I said, take. It. Off.” I repeated each word slowly, my gaze sweeping over the trembling sales assistants. “When did the wedding dress I ordered become available for others to try on?” Two sales assistants frantically helped Seraphina out of the gown. Several red marks appeared on her fair arms from the tight fabric. Seraphina wept, tears streaming down her face like rain. “I’m sorry, I’m so low, I don’t deserve to wear such beautiful clothes!” She suddenly went limp, collapsing to the floor. Lucian Thorne lunged forward, catching her in one swift motion, then turned to me, roaring, “Elara Vance, are you satisfied?!” “Disinfect it three times,” I said, frowning in disgust. “Don’t leave even a trace of her scent.” Seraphina, covering her face, ran out. Lucian Thorne glared at me, his face livid, then slammed the door shut and left. That evening, my assistant conspiratorially leaned in. “Miss Vance, guess what? That perpetually fragile Seraphina Thorne was hit by a car today! I heard her leg is broken!” She gesticulated excitedly. “If you ask me, it’s karma! She clearly knew Lucian Thorne was your fiancé, yet she was always clinging to him, acting like some innocent little flower. It was disgusting!” I gently swirled the red wine in my glass, a cold smirk touching my lips. “Who told you Lucian Thorne was my fiancé?” My assistant’s eyes widened, nearly dropping the fruit platter. “Miss Vance, are you saying…” “Go tell the wedding planner to change the groom’s name,” I said, taking a sip of wine. “Make it Ryder Blackwood.” “That’s wonderful!” my assistant clapped her hands, excited. “Miss Vance! That Lucian Thorne, even if he seemed decent, had no boundaries. Always clinging to Seraphina Thorne, he was a real player.” I couldn’t help but smile faintly. Even my assistant saw it so clearly. How could I have been so deluded in my past life? Love truly does blind you. With a soft sigh, I shook my head. The next morning, as I stepped out of the company building, my vision suddenly went black. A sack was roughly pulled over my head! “Who?! Let go of me!” I struggled desperately. My assailant violently shoved me into a car. My back slammed hard against the car door, making me gasp in pain. The familiar terror instantly swept through me, memories of my past kidnapping flooding back like a tide. “Please! I’ll give you any amount of money!” My voice trembled uncontrollably, tears soaking the blindfold. My only response was a suffocating silence. Until that familiar scent drifted into my nostrils—Lucian Thorne’s usual cologne. My heart plunged to rock bottom. “You… what do you want…?” “Someone wanted me to teach you a good lesson,” he said, his voice deliberately lowered. Even though I’d already decided not to marry him, his actions now still caused an unbearable ache in my heart. CRACK! An iron bar struck my leg with a sickening thud. The excruciating pain made my vision swim. My heart felt like it was tearing apart. I suppressed the urge to expose his disguise. I curled into a ball in the corner of the car, tears silently soaking the sack. In the last moment before losing consciousness, I heard his cold voice: “Remember this lesson.” 4 The iron bar struck my leg with a dull thud, once, twice, thrice… Fifteen times in all. The sound of bone cracking was sickeningly clear. I screamed until I lost consciousness, then was dumped at the gates of the Vance family estate. The sterile smell of the hospital was acrid and nauseating. From the VIP room next door, Seraphina Thorne’s voice drifted. “Lucian, you’re so tired from spending all your time with me!” My heart twisted with a crushing pain. Lucian Thorne, to get revenge for Seraphina, you could be so utterly brutal! “Daughter!” My father rushed in, embracing me tightly, his voice trembling. “Who did this? I’ll make them wish they were never born!” “It’s okay, Dad,” I said, forcing a smile through the pain. “Just get me a new team of bodyguards!” I added, “Oh, and Ryder Blackwood is alive. Once we’re married, he’ll protect me too.” After my father left, I leaned on a crutch and hobbled to the window. In the garden below, Lucian Thorne was spinning Seraphina around on his back. She whispered something in his ear that made his ear tips flush red, and he smiled with such tenderness. It was a smile I had never received. The day before the wedding, Ryder Blackwood arrived, covered in dust, still smelling of earth. He carefully pulled a smooth jade pendant from his pocket. “Miss Vance, a wedding gift!” “The groom has finally returned,” I said, taking the jade, deliberately raising my voice. Ryder Blackwood froze, his eyes instantly reddening, his lips trembling but unable to speak. My assistant quietly informed me that Lucian Thorne had been missing for the past few days. I scoffed. He was waiting for me to lower my head and apologize, waiting for me to come crying, begging him to return and marry me. Unfortunately, his calculations were wrong. That evening, my phone suddenly vibrated. Seraphina Thorne sent a video—a graphic scene of her and Lucian Thorne entwined, utterly indecent. But quickly, the video was recalled. “Amateurish,” I scoffed, closing my phone. Such tactics were pathetic. Standing by the window, I saw Ryder Blackwood standing alone under the starlit sky, gazing up at my window. He waved to me, his smile warm and resolute. In that moment, my heart felt an unprecedented calm. On the morning of the wedding, my phone rang. “Just apologize to Seraphina, and I’ll come marry you immediately,” Lucian Thorne’s voice was still condescending. “No need,” I said, hanging up crisply, a cold smirk on my lips. At the wedding venue, guests whispered amongst themselves. “Where’s Lucian Thorne?” “Are they going to cancel the wedding?” I ignored them, walking down the aisle, linked arm-in-arm with Ryder Blackwood. His arm muscles were tense, but he carefully controlled his strength, fearful of hurting me. “Let us congratulate Mr. Ryder Blackwood and Miss Elara Vance!” the officiant’s voice boomed through the hall. Just then, the ballroom doors were violently thrown open. Lucian Thorne, pale and late, stood in the doorway, the bouquet in his hand smashing to the floor. I curved my lips into a smile and, under his disbelieving gaze, leaned in and kissed Ryder Blackwood.

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Twenty minutes before the ceremony, I found a letter stitched into the lining of my wedding dress. It was from another woman. To my groom. If you love me, sew this into her dress. Let her be a stand-in. Remember, your bride is just a substitute. You belong only to me. Good morning, good afternoon, good night to you, even if we can only love in secret. Ten years of shared life, of dreams, shattered into dust in an instant. 1 The pristine white paper fluttered from my grasp, my hands trembling violently. The intricate butterfly design on my bridal manicure suddenly felt like a garish mockery. Layers of tulle pooled at my feet as I reached into the dress’s hidden seam and pulled out the letter – a tiny envelope, stitched with white thread, clumsy yet deliberate stitches. This was… a secret pact between my groom and someone else. The handwriting was dainty, the closing adorned with a heart, intertwining his nickname with hers: Ethie love Skylar Let your bride be me… Secretly in love… I mouthed the words, my throat choked as if stuffed with waterlogged cotton. Who was she? Who was Skylar? Today’s bride was me, wasn’t she? The wedding I’d waited ten years for—how had it become her emotional stand-in? A woman who didn’t even dare show her face, trying to stake her claim at my wedding? A shiver of icy dread ran through me. I suddenly remembered last night – Nathan had chuckled, as he took my dress, “Of course, we’ll get a special shot of Coraline’s dress. Imagine us on the couch, sixty years from now, looking at these photos. How romantic!” Then, I’d bubbled with pure joy. Now, the memory felt like a cruel twist of the knife. My fingertips grazed the rough, uneven stitches on the letter, and my eyes stung with sudden tears. My groom, with his own hands, had sewn his mistress’s love letter into my wedding dress, allowing her to “marry” him in this grotesque way. And I? I was just a placeholder, a shadow to be replaced. 2 A searing agony shot through me, buckling my knees. I crumpled to the floor, the tiny crystals on the dress digging into my skin, a cruel reminder of my glittering illusion. Only fifteen minutes until my grand entrance. How could I tell everyone? How could I explain that the man I loved, the man who was publicly marrying me, was secretly welcoming another woman into his heart? I’d been buzzing with excitement for this wedding for six months. My dress was custom-made by Leo, a designer friend overseas. He’d poured half a year into crafting this haute couture piece. The simple sweep of the skirt was adorned with hand-embroidered “Forever.” Countless sleepless nights, I’d secretly traced those silken threads, believing this was the final punctuation mark on ten years of love, a joyful comma leading to a lifetime of happiness. Now, it was the most sickening mockery. “Coraline! You’re on! Why aren’t you in your dress yet?” Juliette, my best friend, pounded on the door, her voice laced with urgency. I took a deep breath, then pulled the door open. I stood in nothing but a nude-colored slip, my veil, jewelry, and hair accessories all ripped off, my hair a wild cascade around my shoulders. “Coraline? You…” Juliette’s camera clattered to the floor. She had intended to capture my graceful entrance. “What happened? Does the dress not fit? Do we need to delay?” “Don’t touch me!” I yanked my arm from her grasp and walked barefoot toward the main wedding hall. I was going to the center stage, to rip this farce open with my own hands. 3 Staff in the corridor gasped, rushing to stop me, but I pushed them all aside. As my hand brushed the ornate carvings on the grand hall doors, a dull ache pierced my chest. I had meticulously chosen these doors myself, the carved roses meant to echo the “Forever” on my dress. Now, they seemed like a thousand sneering mouths, mocking my foolishness. My nails dug into my palms as I strode through the throng. With every step, the excited murmur of the crowd dimmed. By the time I stood barefoot on the stage, the entire hall fell silent, the guests’ stunned stares like countless needles pricking my skin. No one dared to speak. No one knew what to do. How strange, indeed, for a bride to appear barefoot, in only a slip, her hair disheveled. My parents and Nathan’s parents were the first to rush forward, forming a barrier in front of me. Juliette tried to grab me from behind, wrapping her arms around my neck. “Coraline! Are you out of your mind?” “What’s going on? Juliette, what happened to Coraline? Why isn’t she dressed?” My parents were frantic. My mom surged forward, trying to shield me from the gawking eyes. I smiled faintly at her. “Mom, it’s okay. If I don’t lay it all bare now, the humiliation will only be worse later.” The emcee on stage looked around desperately, hoping someone would tell him what to do. Beside him stood the man I had loved for ten years: Nathan Miller. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his hair neatly combed, his posture tall and confident. This was the man I had dreamed of marrying countless times… I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I cried out his nickname. “Ethie!” Nathan flinched, his body stiffening. Then he turned sharply, his gaze falling upon my expressionless face. 4 I pushed past my parents and stepped forward, meeting Nathan’s eyes, calm and unwavering. Like the emcee, he instinctively glanced left and right, trying to comprehend the scene. “Coraline?” He rubbed his eyes. When the reality dawned on him, he immediately pulled me into his arms, shielding me. “Coraline! You’re not dressed! Why are you only in your slip?” He looked back at the stunned audience, at the countless eyes fixed on us. Quickly, he shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around me, then bent down, reaching for my feet. “Coraline, the floor is freezing! Why are you barefoot? What happened? What is this all about?” He frowned, his eyes filled with apparent concern, as if nothing mattered but my well-being. I let his tall frame cocoon me, but my voice was cold as I asked, “Is it because her name is Skylar, that you go by Ethie, huh?” His hands, reaching for my feet, froze in mid-air. “Nathan Miller, how many years have you been lying to me?” “Who are you marrying today? Me, or that Skylar? The woman you fantasized about beneath my wedding dress—was it me, or her? The one you stood here waiting for—was it me, or her? You looked at me, but your heart was with her, wasn’t it? You put her things in my wedding dress, and you imagined she was standing here, didn’t you? Nathan, you play a cruel game.” I clearly saw the veins pulsing in his neck, his temples flaring crimson and purple. My voice, loud and sharp, carried through the emcee’s microphone, echoing across the silent hall. I didn’t need to say more; anyone with a brain had already understood the situation. “Nathan Miller, we’re done. I want a divorce!” “I don’t want you anymore.” With that, I slapped him across the face, tore off his jacket, tossed it to the ground, and turned to walk away. Confetti, scattered in joyous celebration, now pricked the soles of my feet. A dull ache, yet nothing compared to the agony in my heart. A roar erupted from the crowd. Someone started demanding what was going on. My parents and his parents rushed forward, flailing their arms, trying to explain to the bewildered guests. They turned back, shouting at Nathan, asking what he had done. What had he done? He had made a clown of me at my own wedding! I bolted, running as fast as I could. Nathan chased after me, his voice tearing through the air. “Coraline! Let me explain! Coraline! It’s not what you think… Skylar, she’s dead!” 5 I stopped, just for a few seconds. Nathan caught up, grabbing me, forcefully turning me to face him. “She’s been dead for ages! You didn’t even know me when she died, and she was only ten! She was just a child! She’s not my mistress! Please, listen to me!” Ten years old…? A ten-year-old girl? Was that even plausible? “It’s not because she’s Skylar that I go by Ethie. It’s because I go by Ethie that she gave herself the name Skylar! She was infatuated with me!” “But I never felt anything for her. She was just a child! She didn’t understand anything, she just idolized an older brother! When she said she wanted to marry me, it was just a child’s innocent remark. I couldn’t bear to tell a sick child what the real world was like!” My legs went weak, and I slumped into his embrace, my heart colder than it had been moments before. “Really? Why did you never tell me?” “For a long time, I wondered why you’d call yourself Ethie. What grown man uses a nickname like that? So it was to match Skylar, then, was it? Nathan, you never told me that.” The wind outside wasn’t cold, just a gentle caress, as comfortable as the day Nathan and I made our relationship official. That day, he was playing basketball. Mid-game, he suddenly ran toward me, ball still in his arms. “Coraline, I can’t hold it in anymore! I can’t stand it! I have to tell you! I like you! I like you! I like you! I love you!” The sweat was still fresh on his face, radiating youthful vigor. My cheeks flushed scarlet, and I turned my back, too shy to respond. He pressed on, “Coraline, do you dare to make a bet with me? A bet that we’ll be together forever!” And somehow, I found my courage too, telling him I dared. Our mutual affection found its outcome, and from that day on, I began to dream of our wedding. Ten years. I never once thought of wanting anyone else, and it was only natural to assume the same of him. A young Skylar, idolizing an older brother. A sick, naive girl uttering childish words. An older brother, out of kindness, not refuting her innocent dreams, promising to fulfill her wishes if she got better. What a touching, heartwarming story. But if Nathan was only trying to comfort Skylar, why, ten years later, would he actually sew the girl’s letter into my wedding dress? Why would he still be so fixated on a child? 6 He explained, swearing he was telling the absolute truth. “Nathan Miller, I don’t believe you. Do you understand? I. Don’t. Believe. You!” I pulled away from him again. “I’m divorcing you. We’re getting a divorce!” Nathan’s parents’ voices reached us from behind. “Coraline, you’re being so childish!” “We’ve invited all our friends and family today! On a day like this, what are you doing causing such a scene?! My son has already explained everything. What are you still being so dramatic about? Barefoot and in your underwear – don’t you have any shame? You’re not just embarrassing yourself, you’re disgracing the Miller name!” I was astonished. Nathan’s parents had always been polite and respectful towards me. We’d known each other for ten years; they were like my own parents. I’d always felt completely at ease with them. “You’ve been married for three days, and you want a divorce? Are you trying to drag my son down? You might not care, but he has a reputation to uphold! What will people say? Married three days and his wife ran off!” Who was running off? Me? Wait, why did it sound like I was the one who cheated? My parents caught up. My dad, stern and formidable, immediately pushed back against them. “That’s not fair, is it? Marriage is between two people. If Nathan has done something truly awful, my daughter has every right to end the marriage. It’s not for you two to come barking orders here!” My mom and dad shielded me. My mom draped her jacket over my shoulders. “Coraline, don’t worry. Your mom knows there must be a reason for this. Your dad and I are here for you!” My mom whispered comfort, and my heart found solid ground. Tears, suddenly, streamed down my face. The pent-up, suppressed hurt of the last few minutes crashed over me like a torrential downpour, leaving me gasping for air. I wrapped my arms around my mom’s neck, no longer able to hold back the sobs. Nathan, meanwhile, was telling his parents to shut up, kneeling on the ground, swearing he had never cheated. His words were fervent, so earnest that if I hadn’t recognized the handwriting, I might have believed him. The letter was small, the handwriting tiny, but I still knew whose it was. I was certain. There was no ten-year-old child. Skylar was his mistress. Nathan had just spun a blatant lie.

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